In the Ruby Republic, rising through the ranks of law enforcement isn't just hard for a woman—it’s almost mythic. The uniform doesn’t grant respect; it demands sacrifice.

  You can't just sleep your way to the Head of Homicide. You need leverage. You need connections, favors and opportunities. And Lyra gave me all those.

  This is my opportunity to repay that debt.

  That Daddy's girl inside lives a cotton-padded life.

  Coddled. Worshipped. Her world curated to insulate her from consequence.

  She’s soft. She’ll shatter.

  We don’t need hours—forty minutes, tops. Most of it scraping intel from her devices. She’ll tell us everything we want to know.

  The real challenge is her father, the founder of Aladdin, one of the largest internet company, and one of the richest person in Ruby Republic.

  He must've known what happened by now.

  Lyra made sure the story would explode on contact. Many reporters were dragged out of bed for such a scandalous event. On the flip side though, among so many reporters, there bound to be a few reached out to Yuan Ma. Maybe before we even cleared the building.

  If reporters didn't tell him, social media surely did. The headline “Yuan Ma’s daughter implicated in murder” is already viral across Weibo and screaming from Baidu’s top search list.

  By now, he’s probably working the phones from his mansion in Hangzhou. Calling in favors, applying pressure, dialing every name that could be swayed by money.

  Yet, a homicide investigation can't be easily swept under the rug, especially when the blood is still fresh and the story's already trending.

  Whatever maneuver he’s engineering—it’ll need polish, legal cover, and a media-friendly bow.

  The only viable play I can think of, is to get the case reassigned.

  Another division. Another narrative.

  And to do that, they have to get one person to sign off: the District Bureau Chief.

  So that’s where I’m headed.

  Head high. Footsteps sharp.

  … …

  The clock on the wall reads 6:44 a.m. The building stands nearly empty and eerily quiet.

  Outside Chief Chen’s office, there’s no one. No secretary. No aides. I walk straight up and knock.

  “Come in,” he calls.

  He’s already seated, posture rigid behind the desk. His face is grim, but not cold.

  “Snow Ma, of all people. Dragging her into a murder case this early?” He eyes me. “You set this up. Why didn’t you tell me when you texted last night? What’s your game?”

  His voice remains calm despite his accusatory words. I can't read if it’s anger or strategy.

  “Sir, I just need forty minutes,” I plead.

  “I'm asking you a question.” Chief Chen is getting impatient.

  All he really has to do is not answer the phone for the next forty minutes. Even though the police force has rules about staying reachable, this early in the morning, who can really blame him?

  The reason he's being such an ass is to assess his risk. He needs to know who he might offend and to what extent.

  “All I know is that Antz Financial is going public, and someone at the top isn't thrilled with how the shares are being allocated.” I'm giving Chief Chen the prepared answer from Lyra.

  This should be enough for him. The forces behind Antz Financial are powerful. But so are the ones bold enough to challenge them. Chief Chen doesn't want enemies in either camp. The best thing for him to do is to feign unawareness.

  “What evidence do you have to make such a public spectacle?” He asks. He knows that I am not reckless, yet he wants to be sure.

  I walk up to his desk and lay out the evidence: the photos, the hair and the DNA samples collected in the scene. He lingers on the photos, taking great interest in the nude scene.

  "You’d think she could afford better fake boobs than those." He comments with a lewd smile. "With this much evidence gathered so quickly, she must be innocent." He sighs, and I nod. Anyone can see she's been set up. “But at least you've got enough to book her."

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  And that gets him off the hook.

  "I don't intend to take her case to the prosecutor," I say gently but firmly. "Just forty minutes. Then I'll release her."

  He rubs his temples, his expression visibly relaxing.

  "Making an enemy out of Yuan Ma?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "You're playing with fire, kid. Don't drag me into it."

  Already in his sixties, District Bureau Chief is likely his final career stop. He harbors no ambition—only caution. Unlike his younger colleagues who eagerly curries favor, he simply wants to avoid conflict.

  Still, he wants me to sweeten the deal.

  And I know exactly what he wants.

  I tiptoe around the desk as if I'm wearing high heels, unbuttoning my sky blue shirt as I move.

  He stares at me with wide eyes, not wanting to miss a beat, turning his chair with me.

  I playfully remove my shirt and fold it carefully on his desk. Then I take off my 34D bra and drape it behind his neck, letting my perky, soft breasts brush against his face.

  That's enough foreplay for the old man—I don't want him finishing too soon. I need forty, maybe thirty-five minutes out of him.

  I kneel between his legs and quickly unbuckle and unzip his pants.

  His member is small, flaccid, and unpleasantly pungent. Morning odor is always terrible. That's why those romantic novel morning sex scenes seem so unrealistic. I doubt any protagonist ever takes a shower before having passionate morning sex with their partner.

  But I am a big girl, and this isn't my first time. I skip the tongue tease, and wrap my mouth around the soft, salty penis with bravado.

  I hold it in my mouth and roll my tongue around it, to coax a reaction from his appendage, not forgetting gazing up at him with a warm smile.

  I don't have to, as he has closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of my mouth. But I am a professional.

  That's what I told Snow as she stood naked before my team's gawking eyes, putting on her little dress, visibly shaking.

  Finally, he becomes fully erect. Even then, his length doesn't fill the depth of my mouth.

  I pull it out, feigning admiration as I examine it. In truth, I just need a moment to swallow and clear my mouth of that stale, acrid taste.

  With expert control of my rhythm, I provide him prolonged pleasure. I have extensive experience with older man, and not exclusively with him.

  The phone rings, startling him. It's his private cell—the number I texted last night. Not many people have this number. He furrows his brow in annoyance, unsure what to do at first. He can't answer it, nor can he turn it off.

  The caller is insistent. Twelve rings before the call finally goes to voicemail.

  He quickly grabs the phone, turns the volume to its lowest setting, and disables vibration. He does the same to his work mobile, then opens his drawer, throws both phones inside, and slams it shut.

  I maintain my rhythm through his frenzy, but privately welcome the interruption. His arousal has faded.

  I diligently work to bring back his hardness. I slurp and gulp, not out of necessity. I make the best wet sound, because they all like it, particularly in office settings where the risk heightens their excitement.

  The old chief does nothing, says nothing, just leans back and enjoys, mostly with his eyes closed. I wonder what fantasies he's picturing in his mind that could possibly surpass the actual sight right in front of him and between his legs.

  After fifteen minutes, he raises his arm and motions for me to come up. I know precisely what he wants.

  He wants participation. He wants to feel young and powerful again. He wants to hear me moan with each thrust.

  I pull out a condom from my pocket. Men in powerful positions are incredibly cautious. I often wonder if they've all attended the same seminar on sexual discretion.

  Choosing condoms is an art—one you must practice to perfect. I carry a variety in my purse for different sizes and sensations. Today, I brought just the right one for the chief, designed to make him feel larger and more virile.

  After putting the condom on, I turn and present my round, firm ass to him. Even through my uniform trousers, the view makes him swallow hard.

  "Want to try something new?" I smile at him, as I slowly pull down my pants until he can see the plug.

  His face lights up with excitement, but hesitation quickly follows. He's clearly unsure if he can manage it.

  "Let me show you," I say, slowly pulling the plug out, then pushing it back in with a deliberate moan.

  "The plug lubricates," I reassure him. Then I turn around and use my mouth to bring him back to full arousal.

  His face sets with determination, as if giving himself a silent pep talk. Then he removes the plug, plunges forward and, voilà, he's in. A sigh of relief escapes his lips.

  His face beams with pride at this accomplishment. I can feel him swelling harder and fuller inside me as he thrusts with complete abandon.

  Yet, I have underestimated the difficulty of this operation. As he thrusts, his stick is too short to maintain penetration. And once it slips out, it has a hard time to get back in.

  I turn and offer him a reassuring smile and say, "This happens a lot. You'll get better at it with practice." I plant a soft kiss on his cheek as I reinsert the plug, then kneel down to restore his erection with my mouth.

  He's surprised that I'm willing to take him in my mouth after where he's been, but it clearly excites him. He eagerly engages, emboldened by this new experience.

  And he is getting better, as am I. He's learned to maintain his pace and enjoy the tightness without pulling completely out. I've learned to move in sync with his rhythm, keeping him inside me longer.

  My moans and groans intensify. Some are even genuine, as I can actually feel his thickness in my tight ass.

  After perhaps another twenty minutes, the novelty wears off. We both grow impatient. He pushes me onto his desk, forcefully spreads my thighs, and takes me in the conventional way.

  Five minutes later, he popped.

  He pants triumphantly as I feign short, erratic breathing beneath his sweaty body. I glance at the clock on the wall: 7:30 a.m. I let out a long sigh.

  I'm still considering whether to get up, remove the condom and clean up his ejaculation with my mouth, when I notice Chief Chen has already started getting dressed. Through the venetian blinds, he's spotted someone hurrying towards the office.

  I follow suit.

  His white shirt is damp and wrinkled. My sky blue shirt is ruffled. I couldn't care less.

  As I walk out of the office, I run into the Chief's secretary. She hurries toward the office, clearly in a rush. Someone had called her trying to locate the Chief, but he hadn't answered her call either.

  She lowers her head and avoids eye contact, pretending not to notice me—as if sparing me from embarrassment.

  I flash a broad smile at her. "He's waiting for you," I say casually.

  I don’t care if she runs her mouth. It’s no secret I sleep with my bosses. Let them gossip. Let them spin fresh stories. The more they do, the more people will believe this whole charade with Snow Ma is just me following Chief Chen’s orders.

  And that’s the perfect distraction.