Chapter 15 {Learn To Respect Woman}

The fight was swift and brutal, a whirlwind of controlled aggression and precise strikes. Maxwell, despite his small stature, fought with a ferocity that belied his age, his movements a blur of calculated attacks. But it was Echinacia who truly commanded the scene, her movements a mesmerizing display of lethal grace.

She moved with an almost supernatural speed, anticipating her opponents' every move and countering with devastating precision. Her eyes were cold and focused, devoid of any emotion save for a simmering rage. Each strike was calculated to inflict maximum pain with minimal effort.

The remaining young masters quickly realized they were outmatched. Their drunken bravado evaporated as they scrambled to defend themselves against the relentless onslaught. One by one, they fell victim to Echinacia's merciless efficiency.

Finally, only one young master remained standing – the one who had initially attempted to flirt with Echinacia.

The 24yearold young master, fueled by a desperate surge of adrenaline, attempted to flee the scene. But Echinacia was too fast. She closed the distance in a heartbeat, her movements blurring as she overtook him. With a swift, powerful maneuver, she slammed him against the hood of his expensive sports car, the impact jarring his entire body.

"Learn to respect women," she hissed, her voice dripping with icy contempt.

"Be grateful today I don't feel like killing you. Now, all of you, piss off."

The young master, thoroughly humiliated and terrified by Echinacia's display of power, soiled himself in fear and bolted away, disappearing into the night. The remaining members of his entourage followed suit, their tails between their legs.

Stanford Volkov watched the scene unfold from his vantage point on the fourth floor, his expression unreadable. The brutal efficiency with which Echinacia dispatched her opponents was both impressive and unsettling. He had seen his fair share of fights, but there was something distinctly different about this girl.

His three companions, Alexander, Mateo, and Parker, reacted with a mixture of awe and fear. They exchanged uneasy glances, each processing the implications of what they had just witnessed.

Alexander shook his head in disbelief.

"I've never seen anyone move like that. She's like a damn ninja."

Mateo nodded in agreement, his eyes wide.

"And those guys were huge! She tossed them around like they were nothing."

Parker shuddered visibly.

"That's some scary shit, man. I don't ever want to be on her bad side."

Stanford remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the retreating figures of the humiliated young masters. He could feel the weight of their collective fear, a palpable energy that permeated the room. It was a testament to the power and unpredictability of the woman he had inadvertently provoked.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

"Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to his companions.

"Very interesting indeed."

He paused, a flicker of genuine curiosity now evident in his eyes.

"Don't bother looking her up," Stanford said indifferently.

Stanford's words hung in the air, a clear dismissal of any further inquiry into Echinacia's identity. His companions exchanged puzzled glances, wondering at the sudden shift in his demeanor.

Alexander, ever the curious one, couldn't help but press further.

"But Stan, don't you think we should at least try to find out who she is? I mean, she could be useful to have on our side."

Stanford shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"No," he said firmly.

"Some things are better left unknown. Besides, I have a feeling our paths will cross again soon enough."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving his friends to ponder the enigma that was Echinacia. Stanford Volkov was a man who prided himself on his ability to read people, to anticipate their every move. But this girl... she was an unpredictable variable, a wild card in the game of power and influence that he played so masterfully.

The next morning

Old Man Liam, a man weathered by years and wisdom, peered at his granddaughter with a mixture of fondness and bewilderment. He'd witnessed countless changes in the world, but Echinacia's penchant for vibrant hair colors remained a constant source of confusion.

"Echinacia," he said gently, his voice raspy with age.

"I do not understand why you like dyeing your hair. It's a lot of upkeep, you know."

Echinacia sighed, a weary expression crossing her face. She closed her eyes briefly, momentarily lost in thought.

"Grandpa," she replied softly.

"Because my natural hair is red." She paused, a hint of melancholy in her voice.

"I've always liked pink since I was a child. I always dyed my hair pink."

A flicker of understanding crossed Old Man Liam's face.

"Alright just be there for an hour and you and you can return to your parents villa honestly," Old Man Liam said so disappointed in his son forget his granddaughter might be lazy but she is a genius in her own way.

Echinacia nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She appreciated her grandfather's understanding, even if he didn't fully grasp her reasons for dyeing her hair.

"Thank you, Grandpa," she murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his weathered cheek.

As she prepared to leave, Echinacia's thoughts drifted to the gala ahead. She knew she needed to make an appearance, but the idea of mingling with the city's elite filled her with a sense of dread. These people were not her peers; they were obstacles in her path to justice.

With a sigh, she straightened her posture and adjusted her gown. She was Echinacia Roaz, and she would face this gala headon, just as she faced every challenge that came her way.

"I'll be back before you know it," she assured her grandfather, flashing him a confident smile before exiting the villa.

The charity gala was a dazzling spectacle of wealth and extravagance. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, illuminating a sea of elegantly dressed guests. The air buzzed with polite conversation, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the soft strains of a live orchestra.

Echinacia, however, remained largely unaffected by the opulent atmosphere. She had arrived in a sleek black BMW, drawing minimal attention as she made her way through the crowd. True to her word, she sought out a quiet corner of the ballroom, settling into a plush velvet armchair with an air of detached observation.

She kept her gaze fixed on the swirling mass of attendees, her senses subtly scanning for anything out of place – any sign of intrigue or deception. Her hands were clasped loosely in her lap, her expression carefully neutral as she blended into the background. She was a silent observer, a shadow lurking in the periphery.