The taxi crawled through the blizzard like a wounded animal, wind whistling through the window seals with razor-sharp intensity.
Inside, the heater blasted stale air thick with cracked leather and gasoline fumes. Lily pressed herself deeper into Ethan's embrace, her tiny fist clutching a corner of his shirt that had grown warm from her desperate grip. Ice crystals still clung to her lashes, and her nose glowed red from the cold.
"Daddy... where are we going?"
Her voice barely rose above a whisper, hoarse from crying. "That mean lady locked up all your money... do we have to go back to the fat uncle's house?"
At the mention of "fat uncle," Ethan felt the small body in his arms contract like a frightened animal.
His heart twisted as if crushed by an invisible fist.
Ethan rested his chin on his daughter's soft hair, forcing his voice to remain gentle—afraid that anything louder might shatter this fragile porcelain doll. "No fat uncle's house. Daddy has a very wealthy friend who went abroad. He asked us to... house-sit for him."
"House-sit?"
Lily tilted her head up, confusion swimming in those oversized eyes that dominated her gaunt little face. "Do we have to pay money? I only have two dollars and fifty cents left."
"No payment needed. That uncle's house has lots of good food and a big bathtub you can swim in."
Ethan told a merciful lie.
The next second, his right pocket suddenly grew heavy.
The weight wasn't physical—it was a warm current that surged through his entire body.
Across his vision, lines of dark red data flowed silently:
**[S-Class Fatherly Love Detected: Protecting Innocence]**
**[Reward 1: $20,000 cash (Attribute: Personal funds, legal immunity, freeze-proof)]**
**[Reward 2: Pangaea Seven-Star Hotel Imperial Suite (Permanent residence rights)]**
Ethan slipped his hand into his pocket, fingertips brushing against something cold and rigid.
Without explanation, he looked up at the rearview mirror, meeting the driver's suspicious gaze. "Driver, take us to the Pangaea Seven-Star Hotel."
The cabbie glanced back through his mirror.
The man's T-shirt collar was frayed, the little girl wrapped in an oversized adult coat that hung like a tent, clutching a grimy plastic bag.
Seven-star hotel? Probably going there to collect bottles from the dumpster.
The driver said nothing, just floored the accelerator. As long as they paid the fare, he'd drive them to hell if they wanted.
Thirty minutes later.
Outside the Pangaea Seven-Star Hotel, golden lights transformed the falling snow into glittering diamonds. The massive revolving door stood like a barrier, separating the bitter cold and poverty from warmth and luxury.
The taxi had barely stopped when a red Porsche 911 roared up with its signature growl, arrogantly cutting in front of them.
Its wheels churned through the slush, sending a spray of black, muddy water directly onto Ethan's pants as he stepped out.
The sports car door swung open.
A stiletto heel, thin as a blade, pierced the snow.
Roxanne Sterling emerged wrapped in a cashmere coat over a sharply tailored designer suit, gold-rimmed glasses catching the light like ice. She carried a legal folder—clearly here for some high-society function.
Of all the gin joints in all the world.
Ethan frowned, about to lift Lily and avoid confrontation.
"Ethan Blackwell."
A voice devoid of warmth stopped him cold.
Roxanne clicked across the pavement in three quick strides, blocking the father and daughter. She adjusted her glasses, her gaze slicing through Ethan's threadbare T-shirt before settling on the plastic bag of broken coins in Lily's hands.
Disgust painted her beautiful, cold features without the slightest attempt at concealment.
"Just received ten million dollars and you're already here to blow it?"
Roxanne pulled out her phone, opening a recording app. "Not only maliciously transferring assets, but deliberately dressing your child like this to gain sympathy? Ethan, to avoid your debts, have you abandoned even the basic dignity of fatherhood?"
Ethan pressed Lily closer, shielding her from that piercing stare. "Ms. Sterling, it's after hours. I have the right to take my daughter anywhere."
"You have rights?"
Roxanne's laugh was arctic. Her words came rapid-fire: "According to a court order that took effect ten minutes ago, as the defendant, you're restricted from all luxury spending. Forget staying here—if you take one step through that revolving door, I can have you arrested immediately for contempt of court."
Security guards, hearing the commotion, quickly surrounded them.
Several uniformed, broad-shouldered men pressed hands to their radios, eyes locked on the shabbily dressed father and daughter with predatory alertness.
"Lady... don't take Daddy away!"
Lily suddenly struggled free from Ethan's embrace.
The word "arrested" had terrified her. Her face went chalk-white, but she still held up that grimy plastic bag toward the intimidating woman.
"Daddy didn't waste money... this is money Lily earned collecting bottles... Lady, please don't take Daddy..."
Her small hands were raw red from cold, a fresh cut still healing across her knuckles.
The plastic bag rustled in the wind, its contents—rusted bottle caps and mud-caked coins—painfully visible.
Roxanne stared at that tiny, frostbitten hand extended toward her, her breathing hitching.
Those clear eyes, filled with terror yet still protective, struck something soft inside her chest.
But only for a moment.
Professional instinct quickly restored her composure—this had to be Ethan's coaching. Using a child's innocence for emotional manipulation made him even more despicable.
"Security, remove them."
Roxanne looked away, refusing to meet those heartbreaking eyes again. "If he tries to force entry, call the police immediately."
Guests entering and leaving the hotel stopped to gawk.
"Isn't that guy the former CEO of Blackwell Industries?"
"Shh, went bankrupt years ago. Now he's just a deadbeat who'd steal his own kid's milk money."
"Bringing such a young child here to scam people—it's shameful."
The cruel whispers struck like poisoned darts. Lily went rigid with fear, burying her face in Ethan's neck, her small shoulders shaking violently.
In that moment, his heartbeat synchronized with his daughter's.
It was the resonance of rage.
Ethan ignored the guards pushing toward them. He didn't shout at Roxanne Sterling.
He simply held his daughter with one arm while the other reached into his worn jeans pocket, withdrawing a pure black card.
The card bore no bank logos—only a dark gold ouroboros emblem in the bottom right corner.
"Ms. Sterling."
Ethan's voice carried an eerie calm. "The law prohibits defendants from luxury spending. But the law doesn't prohibit defendants from staying at a friend's place, does it?"
"Friend? Your fair-weather buddies all ran the day you went bankrupt." Roxanne's eyes dripped contempt. "How long are you going to keep up this charade?"
At that moment, a well-dressed middle-aged man was escorting several VIP guests to the exit.
Chen Wei, the hotel's general manager.
His gaze casually swept the arguing crowd, then locked onto the black card pinched between Ethan's fingers.
In that instant, Chen's professional smile froze solid.
His pupils dilated in shock.
The Global Supreme Owner's Card!
This wasn't a VIP—this was the building's true "owner"!
A chill shot from Chen's feet straight to his skull, his legs nearly buckling. Abandoning his VIP guests, he charged through the security cordon like his pants were on fire.
"Stop! Everyone stop right now!"
His voice cracked with panic, startling everyone present.
Roxanne frowned. "Manager Chen, this deadbeat is trying to force his way—"
Chen wasn't listening. He hunched forward, hands nervously wiping cold sweat along his pants seams, his entire posture radiating extreme subservience.
He almost shouted "Boss!" but caught Ethan's deep, ocean-dark eyes.
Those eyes held no joy at reunion—only warning.
Cold, silent, understated warning.
After decades navigating high society's treacherous waters, Chen understood immediately.
He swallowed the words, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, forcing out a smile more painful than tears as he turned to Roxanne: "Ahem... Ms. Sterling, this is a misunderstanding. A huge misunderstanding. Mr. Blackwell here is indeed our owner's... distant relative!"
"What?" Roxanne stared, certain she'd misheard.
"Yes! Before leaving the country, our owner specifically instructed that Mr. Blackwell could stay in this building as long as he wanted, utilities included!"
Chen dabbed at the fine sweat beading his forehead, his voice trembling. "This falls under... employee family benefits! No cost involved!"
Roxanne looked incredulously at the man in thrift store clothes. "That's impossible. I've investigated his background thoroughly—there's no such connection!"
"Ms. Sterling, this is our hotel's highest classified information."
Chen straightened his spine, positioning himself protectively in front of Ethan like a mother hen. His tone grew firm: "Since this is a family arrangement, there's no luxury spending involved. Do you have any other legal concerns, Ms. Sterling?"
Roxanne opened her mouth, the word "police" stuck in her throat like a bone.
The law truly couldn't touch "staying with relatives."
She stared daggers at Ethan.
The man was gently patting his daughter's back, not even granting her a glance.
That dismissal hurt worse than any direct confrontation.
"Fine, Ethan Blackwell. Well played."
Roxanne bit out the words, her heels striking the ground in an angry staccato as she spun away. "I'll see how long you can keep up this act! Eight AM tomorrow morning at my office—don't be late, or face the consequences!"
Watching that red figure disappear through the revolving door, Ethan finally looked up.
"Lead the way."
Just two words, but they carried the unmistakable authority of someone accustomed to command.
"Yes, yes! Right this way, sir! Private entrance! Watch the step!" Chen bobbed and bowed, cold sweat streaming down his temples into his collar, not daring to wipe it away.
Ethan carried Lily into the lobby.
Warm air enveloped them, chasing away the bone-deep cold.
Lily timidly peeked out, taking in the golden Roman columns and massive crystal chandeliers, her mouth forming a perfect "O."
"Daddy... Uncle's house is so big! Even bigger than kindergarten!"
"Yes, and from now on, this is Lily's home."
Ethan carried his daughter toward the elevator bank in the lobby's depths.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open with mechanical precision.
Just as Ethan stepped forward, a hand with blood-red nails shot out, forcibly holding the door open.
Inside stood a man and woman.
The man wore a gaudy white suit, his hair slicked back with pomade—Zhao Tai, the rich brat who'd orchestrated Ethan's bankruptcy years ago.
Clinging to his arm was a woman in a backless evening gown, her makeup heavy and theatrical.
Vivian Chase.
Ethan's ex-wife. Lily's biological mother.
Their eyes met.
Vivian's expression was a masterpiece of shock transforming into cruel disdain.
She dramatically covered her nose, shrinking backward as if confronted by something diseased and contaminated.
"Well, well, if it isn't Prince Ethan! What's this—delivering takeout in that beggar's costume?"
Vivian fanned herself with her free hand. "The stench of poverty is absolutely suffocating the air."
Zhao Tai wore an equally mocking expression.
He deliberately held the close button, keeping the father and daughter locked out while repeatedly jabbing at floor buttons—anything to prevent the elevator from moving.
"Darling, let's wait for the next VIP car. This is clearly the service elevator. People of our caliber can't possibly share space with dogs and deadbeats."