The next day, Arabella received her passport and identity card.

Following a personal call from the heir of House Herheid, the processing had been remarkably smooth—the efficiency was light-speed.

In her passport photo, Arabella's long, wavy hair was groomed to perfection, her makeup clean and translucent. She had a slightly silly smile—fitting for someone who had "foolishly" become a German citizen overnight. 

Strictly speaking, Arabella had been transformed into a twenty-five-year-old German national named

Aerona von Herhald. Frederick had shared his own surname with her, as he couldn't think of a better German name on such short notice.

Arabella didn't understand the legal weight of the passport; she was simply overjoyed that she could be with Frederick forever.

If the famous Leonardo Sinclair, known throughout the Far East, knew that his precious daughter's nationality, age, and name had all been rewritten, he would likely have put a bullet through the perpetrator.

There are no secrets in high society.

The scandal spread quickly, becoming the hottest gossip in the circle: the heir of House Herheid was keeping a mixed asian girl by his side every day. The nature of this "keeping" was left ambiguous, as it was common for Western billionaires to keep young, beautiful "Asian sweethearts" on a whim.

Frederick's father, Walter von Herheid, eventually heard the news through his current wife Natasha's younger sister. Furious, he called his eldest son that same day to demand the truth and berate him for his perceived arrogance.

"Frederick, I want you to send that girl away immediately. You gave her your surname—do you actually intend to marry her?"

"House Herheid is not a refugee camp or a shelter for stray animals. A cheap oriental doll of unknown origin will only bring us shame at every public gathering!"

The phone sat on the desk. Though the speaker wasn't on, the enraged shouting was clearly audible. Frederick remained unmoved, his expression indifferent as he continued writing a letter, his fountain pen flowing in elegant English calligraphy.

Curled up in a beanbag chair nearby reading a book, Arabella looked up, blinking curiously. She didn't understand who was on the phone, but they were very loud. Sensing her gaze, Frederick glanced at her and offered a gentle smile, signaling that everything was fine.

"Frederick!" "Frederick!"

Frederick set down his pen and brought the phone to his ear, his voice as calm as a deep well. "Father, you have cycled through four wives in twenty years and sired countless cheap children of unknown origin like a breeding stallion. I haven't seen you die of shame yet".

Silence followed. One could almost imagine Walter's face turning beet-red with rage.

"Is this how you speak to your father?"

"Perhaps because I am ashamed to have a father like you," Frederick replied nonchalantly.

Walter slammed the table, cursing Frederick as a demon. Frederick remained as calm as if he were listening to a subordinate's report.

"Who is it? They sound so mean," Arabella whispered, looking worried.

Frederick smiled. He pointed his finger at her introductory German book, silently telling her to focus on her studies and stop looking around. Then, he swiveled his leather chair away so she wouldn't see the darkening of his expression.

Suddenly, the voice of a young boy shouting "Daddy" came through the line. Walter pulled the phone away, his tone turning affectionate. "Okay, Daddy's coming right away".

Bringing the phone back, Walter's voice turned cold again. "The family gathering is the day after tomorrow.

Daisy Beaumont and her mother, Lady Patricia, will be there. Don't forget the promise you made to your grandfather. You're only a few months away from thirty—you'd better settle that little yellow thing quickly".

Frederick tilted his chin up, his silhouette merging into the shadows as he faced away from the light. "If you speak disrespectfully of my person again, I will leak the news of your twenty-year-old French mistress to the Times. I hope you aren't looking for a fourth divorce".

Walter had been living in London with his latest wife, a famous British supermodel with a top-tier physique but an ordinary background.

The older man's face contorted. "You demon—!"

Frederick hung up and rubbed his brow. As he turned his chair back around, he met the girl's eager gaze. She tilted her head like a confused bird. Having waited patiently for him to finish, her eyes lit up when he turned back, and she offered him a radiant smile.

Frederick gestured for her to come over. Arabella immediately dropped her book and scrambled into his lap—her exclusive, permanent seat.

Autumn and winter in Germany were freezing, the skies perpetually grey and drenched in rain. Arabella was particularly sensitive to the cold, which only made her more eager to press herself against Frederick and burrow into his embrace.

Frederick’s arms acted like a natural heater, but they also possessed a certain... "recoil" function. Every so often, he would press that rigid hardness against her, leaving her stirred and undeniably moist.

She was dying to know what he looked like under there, but Frederick never allowed it. Every time her hands wandered, he would pin them down with the authority of a sovereign.

They had shared countless kisses by now—sometimes for thirty minutes at a stretch, until she was dazed and breathless. He would pant against her, his muscles bulging with tension, yet his hands remained frustratingly gentlemanly.

Arabella felt he didn't need to be such a gentleman; it felt almost intentional. She craved more; the damp heat rising within her couldn't be quenched by kisses alone. She would look at him with puppy-dog eyes, pleading for more, but he only smiled, feigning ignorance.

"Who was that on the phone earlier? All that shouting... he must be an ugly monster. You shouldn't answer his calls anymore," Arabella said. She kicked off her shoes and hopped into his lap with practiced ease.

Frederick stroked her hair. "Yes, a very ugly, unrefined person indeed". He didn't want to spoil the mood with talk of Walter, so he deftly changed the subject. "Would you like to go out for a while?"

"Go where?!" Arabella’s eyes lit up even brighter. She caught Frederick's tie between her fingers. Since waking from her coma, she had spent almost all her time at the Herheid Estate. She knew nothing of the world beyond its gates.

Frederick took her hand in his, massaging from her fingertips down to the palm. "In two days, we’re going to Hamburg. My grandparents are hosting a wedding anniversary dinner, and I’d like to bring you".

Arabella was stunned. Frederick had a family! This estate was massive—it had sixty-seven guest rooms—yet Frederick lived here alone. Everyone else was just staff. She had asked about his parents once, and he’d simply said they lived elsewhere.

"Do you want to go?" Frederick asked casually, his thumb grazing over the calluses on her palm.

To any observer, her hands were those of a delicate girl—pale, slender, and seemingly fragile. But to anyone holding them, the truth was clear. Her bones were hard, her grip firm, and thick calluses coated the base of her palms, the insides of her thumbs, and the webs of her hands. When she exerted herself, her strength was startling. She could physically restrain Black and Peach—two massive dogs weighing over a hundred and fifty pounds combined—on her own.

Arabella itself didn't realize that whenever they kissed intensely, she would clutch Frederick’s collar so hard she’d nearly choke him. That slight suffocation only fueled his possessiveness, causing him to reclaim her lips with even more ferocity.

Frederick wasn't blind. He knew exactly where those calluses came from: years of handling firearms. And that hardness in her knuckles? That was from boxing. Not just her hands, but every inch of her body held a dormant power. Her physical resilience was leagues beyond an average person’s; even with such a severe injury, she had recovered in a single week.

"That’s amazing! Frederick, I love you!" Arabella chirped, planting a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek. "I would love to eat a 'Hamburg' with your grandparents! I want a double cheeseburger with BBQ sauce and an ice-cold Coke!"

Arabella had been craving junk food for ages. She never understood why Frederick used such a derogatory term for something as heavenly as a burger and fries.

Eat a "Hamburg"...