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Greta was walking toward the suburbs with an absent stare.

She had just gone through the most confusing night in her life.

Her slender shadow stretched out in front of her.

Just half an hour ago, she had been released from detention in Milan.

It was the man she always hated, Dylan Sterling, who sent someone to free her.

Just now, he told her on the phone that it wasn\'t him who killed her father.

The Sterlings never harmed her parents.

It was completely different from what she had known.

Everything was mixed up in her mind, and she had no idea what was true.

Did her revenge make a complete mistake?

She didn\'t know how long she had walked, and it was almost dawn when the familiar outline of the manor house appeared in front of her.

It was her secret residence in Milan.

"Who is it? Stop!" The doorman shone the flashlight on her.

"Young master? What happened to you?" He cried in surprise and then turned to a servant at the door, "Call Brent, now!"

After a while, Brent stormed out.

"How did you come back?" He asked with emotion as he examined her up and down, relieved that she was fine.

A year ago, knowing Greta was wanted by the Milan police, Barzini, her foster father, locked her in the house and kept her grounded.

But not long ago, Greta sneaked out and was caught by the police.

Greta looked at Brent, who had a broken cheek. Barzini must have given him a black eye after she was caught.

As her bodyguard who grew up with her, Brent could never escape from punishment if she made a mistake.

According to Barzini\'s ruthless determination, he should suffer no less than she had.

"Very badly hurt..." Greta raised her hand involuntarily and touched the cut on his cheek.

As her last word fell, she collapsed and fainted into Brent\'s arms.

***

Greta woke up to bright sunlight filling her room. It was already afternoon.

She slept through the day.

Luckily, she was young and quick to recover, and when she awoke, she was fully refreshed.

After she changed her clothes, a maid came in with a bowl of hot soup. No sooner had she drank it, the door of her room was knocked again.

"Young master, Lord Barzini is in the study," a servant said.

A complex glister came to Greta\'s eyes. It was no surprise to her that Barzini had come to Milan.

All right, she also had something to ask him, too.

She knocked twice at the door of the study, and as soon as she entered, she trembled at the cool air of the room.

A middle-aged, silver-haired man in his 40s was standing at the window with his hands behind his back.

The man was a pure White European.

Though he did not speak, the dignity in him could not be ignored.

The middle-aged man was Barzini, the most powerful mob boss in Italy.

"Dad," Greta greeted her foster father drily, holding her breath.

Barzini slowly turned around, his sapphire piercing eyes shining.

"You know you were wrong?"

Greta knew that Barzini was saying she shouldn\'t have gone out alone when the police were looking for her. She hung her head without a word.

Barzini bent his brows, and his voice was displeased. "What? Do you still think you were right? Last time, you came to Milan with Brent to kidnap a woman without telling me in advance. And this time, you ran out regardless of the consequences, knowing that all the police in Italy were searching for you. Now, you didn\'t even realize you\'d made mistakes? Do you think you\'re able to do things independently and no longer obey my words?"

Greta clenched her fists silently.

"Why did you sneak out?" Barzini kept his temper. He felt that something had changed after his adopted daughter came back this time.

"If you think I was wrong, just punish me." Greta, however, remained stubborn.

The veins bulge out of Barzini\'s forehead. He picked up a long stick slant and ordered coolly, "Kneel down."

Greta followed his words silently, kneeling on the cold hard marble floor.

She had been used to it.

The long stick had fallen on her whenever Barzini was not satisfied with her, and that was how she came by the scars on her back.

Just as she gritted her teeth, waiting for the sharp pain to come in her back, the door banged open, and Brent\'s voice came in a hurry,

"Lord Barzini, please don\'t blame Greta. It was my fault! Blame me for not protecting her well. Punish me if you want to."

Barzini looked coldly at the young man who ran in. "Your punishment is inevitable, but Greta cannot get away with it."

Then he threw the stick into the girl\'s back with great force.

Without hesitation, Brent rushed forward, protecting the girl in his arms, irrespective of the stick.

The long stick beat hard on Brent\'s back!

He grunted in pain but still enfolded the girl in his arms.

Greta scented blood, and her eyes widened.

"Get out of here," Barzini barked out his order.

Brent still held Greta, repeating, "Punish me, not her."

"I say again, get out of here," Barzini lowered his voice in anger.

Brent didn\'t move.

"Let me go," Greta whispered, knowing Barzini was ready to blow up.

The young man who held her tightly had no intention to let her go.

As her bodyguard, he should accept all dangers and hardships for her.

Out of the corner of Greta\'s eye, she saw Barzini furious, raising his long stick, ready to give Brent another hard beat.

If Brent took the whip, his bones might be broken, and he would probably be internally injured.

"I was wrong!" At last, she gave in and screamed, "I shouldn\'t have gone out, okay? Stop, please stop, don\'t hit him again, please! \'

The stick waved in the air and stopped short.

Barzini laid down his stick and looked coldly at his adopted daughter, waiting for her explanation.