Rich Girl

Carol Ferris, a wealthy, intelligent fashionista, harbored an unexplainable distaste for lazy people and leeches.

This sentiment extended to the new bodyguard hired for her, who was already fifteen minutes late, causing her to believe they were overpaying for his services. Tapping her high-heeled shoes on the ground, the brunette, Carol, gazed fixedly at the clock.

"He should be here soon," the butler assured, hoping to avoid incurring his madame's wrath on behalf of the new bodyguard.

"He'd better be," she replied, growing more displeased with each passing second.

Few people made her wait, and even fewer had the authority to do so without suffering her wrath. She didn't believe this man was one of them. While Carol was aware that there were individuals pursuing a shortcut to success by targeting her, she doubted it was worth spending a fortune to hire a bodyguard for someone aiming to take advantage of her.

Confident in her combat skills as an active practitioner of Muay Boran, Carol was hardworking. Despite studying multiple languages, acquiring various craft and art skills, learning martial arts, and studying the market, she still made an effort to spend time with her family. This was the reason she was returning home for a family gathering.

As impatience mounted while waiting for the man's arrival, he finally made an appearance. "He is here, Miss," one of her servants informed, bowing and avoiding direct eye contact.

"About time," she fumed, prepared to unleash her anger at him for wasting her time.

However, as the man entered, Carol was taken aback. "Sorry for being late; a cat crashed into the taxi I was riding," he explained, offering an excuse she ignored. Nonetheless, she couldn't help but be amazed by his appearance. He walked in wearing a purple T-shirt, white pants, and crocs.

'He is handsome,' she thought, recognizing that as an issue. 'Do they expect a pretty boy to be able to stop assassins?'

Carol was genuinely horrified at the thought of being scammed. However, since he was hired by Oswald, a good friend of her father, she believed he wouldn't deceive them. Or so she hoped.

"I believe you are Carol Ferris?" he asked with a polite smile. "You are even more beautiful than I was told."

'Of course, he's a flirt too,' she noted.

"And you are a bit smaller than I expected."

"Ouch," her comment made him physically step back. "I consider myself well-built for someone standing over six feet."

Carol didn't take kindly to his humor. "I'll discuss your late arrival with Oswald."

"Pardon?"

...

...

Well, I already got the idea of her personality. Although I appreciate stern individuals, I'm not a fan of people who pass judgment without assessing abilities. I've encountered too many of such individuals, and none of them were able to sustain their businesses. A stern personality without proper assessment skills leads to bankruptcy.

Not that it mattered; I was being paid by Oswald, not her.

"Late arrival, unprofessional attire, lack of equipment," she frowned. "You're not convincing me of your skills in any way."

She had a sharp eye but lacked the ability to judge someone accurately.

"Well, my expertise lies elsewhere, not in weapons," I maintained a calm expression. "Besides, the other men who will be traveling with you are already armed enough to compensate for my lack of weaponry. You don't have to worry."

I wasn't a sycophant trying to win anyone's favor. The only reason I accepted this mission was because Oswald was persuasive, and it provided an easier way to earn money without being actively targeted by heroes. Being targeted once was enough for me.

"Miss, we're going to be late," thankfully, a butler intervened, putting an end to the argument.

She stared at me, once again assessing me with her eyes. Honestly, most of the women I've encountered thus far have been annoying. Where are the sweet and kind ones?

But that's not the issue at hand; my task is to protect her, not worry about whether she likes me.

Without wasting any more time than we already had, I followed her as she boarded her private jet. Being rich, I wondered how anyone could kidnap her when she owned the entire airline. However, an awful realization struck me—I had overlooked a crucial detail. A minuscule detail that might be the most important one.

She boarded her own jet, departed from her own airport, and was heading to her own estate. Where would the assassins even have an opportunity to target her?

Damn it.

"Um, Ferris?" I called out, diverting the attention of the wealthy woman sipping tea.

"What?" she turned, clearly displeased by my interruption of her tea time.

But if there was anything she should be more concerned about than her tea, it was answering my question.

"How many people are supposed to be on the plane?" I inquired, capturing her attention.

"Including the captain, co-pilot, butlers, maids, and staff, along with us... twenty-six--"

She understood what I was getting at.

"Everyone except the captain, gather around!" she commanded, turning to her butler. "Go and check the cockpit; inform me immediately if you notice anything suspicious!"

That's when everyone's gears started turning. If it was impossible to kidnap her at the airports, then the only remaining opportunity would be on the plane itself.

Carol began counting the crew members, recalling every face she knew, until she spotted something.

"You..." she called out to a maid. "You weren't part of the assigned crew."

To be honest, I was surprised she remembered the crew members. But that was sufficient, as it led us to the suspect.

"I-I was recently added to the crew, ma'am--"

The woman swiftly turned her head as I threw a small pocket knife at her face. She evaded it at an unnaturally fast speed, confirming her identity.

Carol was horrified by my action, but she didn't know the knife was actually harmless. I had modified it to have the properties of butter, meaning it wouldn't cause any serious injury even if it had struck her.

Nevertheless, it served its purpose as she dodged the knife and looked at me, sighing.

"I must say, you're sharp and brave," she remarked. "If it had been a real maid, she would be dead by now."

"But you aren't," I stated, making her smile.

"Of course not. I wouldn't be much of an assassin if I died so easily. Now, would I?"

And with that, she revealed her true identity. Removing the fake skin from her face, she stood before us, smiling.

A beautiful woman with tribal-esque markings, pouty lips, blue eyes, and sharp features.

She was precisely the woman Penguin had informed me about.

"Cheshire."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

[[A/N: Read 25+ chapters ahead on Patreon:

https://www.patreon.com/Greedyfrog

]]