"I don't want her to be disabled, I don't," Arabella sobbed, clenching her fists stubbornly.

"Do you like Minnie?" Frederick asked suddenly.

"I do."

"Then from now on, Minnie is your dog."

Arabella was stunned. "Mine? But she belongs to—"

Frederick pressed a finger to her lips, unwilling to let her beautiful mouth be tainted by a dirty name. "Because she is disabled, Daisy abandoned her. Are you willing to take her in? You can even give her a new name that you like."

Arabella thought she might have misseen it, but for a moment, she detected a flash of bloodthirst in Frederick's eyes.

She nodded. She was more than willing—Minnie was the little dog she, Black, and Peach had risked their lives to save.

She couldn't understand abandonment; she loathed the word. Her fists tightened instinctively. If Daisy were in front of her right now, she would definitely pounce and give her a beating.

"Daisy is a piece of shit! I hate her!"

Frederick rubbed the top of her head with satisfaction. "I've already deleted everything related to Daisy from your phone. People like that aren't worth being your friend."

"I'll scold her if I ever see her again! Minnie is my dog now. I'm going to give her a better name, feed her the best food, and I'm going to sleep with her in my arms." Arabella nodded emphatically.

Frederick's lips curled helplessly. She still had the mind of a child, seeing the world in clear shades of love, hate, good, and evil. He would protect her, building her ivory tower even stronger and tighter.

"Sleeping with her is not allowed. The rest is permitted."

With that, Frederick placed his large hand against her thick, long hair, cradling the back of her head to continue the unfinished kiss. He kissed her fiercely, as if to confirm her safe presence and the fact that she now belonged to him completely.

Arabella was left breathless and dazed. She finally got out of bed with a flushed face to wash up. Frederick caught a glimpse of the red marks scattered across her arms, shoulders, and legs, and felt a wave of self-loathing for his lack of control the night before.

Arabella hummed a cheerful tune as she skipped toward the bathroom to brush her teeth. Frederick followed her. "Does anything hurt?"

"Huh? Would it hurt?" Arabella was busy with the toothpaste. There were two new brands she didn't recognize, so she chose based on the pictures—one with roses and one with mint leaves. She chose the rose.

Frederick frowned. "Your legs, your arms, or..." He pressed two fingers together and gently tapped her rear. "...here."

After all, they had gone for nearly five hours last night. 

Frederick could not bring himself to look back on the previous night.

Arabella, however, was quite fond of the memory. Shaking her head with a mouth full of toothpaste foam, she consoled her worried Daddy: "Maybe there was a little bit of discomfort because Daddy is too, too, too big, but it's fine. I don't feel it if I don't focus on it. Don't worry about me; I'm super strong."

"................."

This had nothing to do with being strong. Still, Frederick had to admit that the girl before him possessed a remarkably healthy and superior physique, far beyond that of an average person.

In Western elite education, physical conditioning had always been a crucial lesson. On campus, those with athletic talent were often more popular and charismatic than those who simply excelled academically. The same held true in the professional world; a physically fit, energetic, and bold leader was more likely to inspire loyalty and affection from employees. 

Frederick narrowed his eyes. A girl capable of precisely and consecutively gunning down two wild wolves in a moment of peril was certainly not the product of an ordinary family. Furthermore, she had carried an eighty-six-pound dog nearly a hundred meters on foot.

This morning, personnel at the scene had sent over photos of the wolf carcasses. Both wolves bore marks of combat, but the lethal wounds weren't caused by dogs; rather, their heads had been pierced by bullets from his Heckler & Koch P7. It was a textbook-perfect kill—calm, precise, decisive, and powerful.

This was muscle memory that could only be achieved through countless hours of training. His little bird had been an expert marksman and proficient with firearms before her amnesia. In China, what kind of family would raise a girl to play with guns? There were only two possibilities: the family either loved her immensely or was exceptionally cruel.

Frederick couldn't deduce what kind of accident had led to her amnesia and homelessness, but he was certain someone was searching for her with every resource at their disposal.

Last week, at a business gala, he had heard whispers that the Chief of the General Police Bureau was looking for someone, utilizing a vast amount of secret police force near Baden-Baden. At the time, a guest had laughingly remarked that he had just returned from a hot spring trip there.

With instincts as sharp as a predator's, Frederick hadn't engaged in the conversation, simply letting it pass with a smile. He wanted to know what kind of life his Little Bird had led before her memory loss, and whether she had a lover she was devoted to. But he didn't investigate, for any move would alert the enemy.

Like opponents hidden in a dark forest, unable to see one another but aware of each other's presence, any footstep could reveal a coordinate.

If he made a move, the other party would surely follow the trail and snatch his Little Bird away. He had a strong premonition that her family would not be easy to deal with, but he was indifferent and fearless. He only knew that since the Little Bird had landed in his territory, she was his.

If her family truly loved her, how could they have been so careless as to lose her? Such negligent parents deserved a profound lesson. Had it been him, he never would have made such a low-level mistake.

And if they didn't love her, wasn't she experiencing a new birth now? Regardless, Frederick felt he had done nothing wrong.

Although Arabella didn't feel any specific discomfort, the family doctor examined her anyway and prescribed two days' worth of anti-swelling medication. Arabella covered her eyes, refusing to watch the scene of Frederick applying the medicine for her.

Her toes curled together as the gel-like medication was applied. A chilling sensation instantly spread through her. "Ah! It's so cold!! I don't want this!!!"

Frederick quickly pulled her trousers back up. "You can't refuse it; this is to reduce the swelling."

"I just don't want it!" Arabella disliked anything cold, icy, or dark. She loved warmth—warm weather, warm sunlight, and warm touches.

Frederick received her protest, his blue eyes gentle and captivating. "Squeeze tight, little bird. You aren't allowed to let it leak out, do you hear me?"

"Fine."

Arabella knew protesting was useless. Gazing at him imploringly, she instinctively contracted those muscles. Frederick saw her body stiffen slightly for a brief moment. He couldn't help but think of the night before—how she had squeezed so tightly and clung to him so greedily.

Frederick didn't dare look into her clear, bright eyes. Even when tainted with desire, she remained a flawless saint. Only he was filthier than the fallen Lucifer. He loathed himself.

Frederick turned his head and stood up, his long fingers fastening the second button of his suit jacket. "Good girl, go to the living room and have a look. There's something you'll like."