The Tyrant Billionaire

Speaking of which, Hardy had always treated his friends well. They did business together, made money together, and Hardy never used his power to swallow up other families.

In this regard, he was far better than the Barzini family and the others.

The big families like Barzini, once they gained power, wanted to control everyone's business and give orders.

They were nothing but a bunch of greedy, selfish fools.

That's why they could never unify the mafia.

"Marcelo, could you lend me a yacht? I want to take a spin on the ocean," Hardy asked.

"No problem, I've got a yacht. It's yours to use."

The next day, Monroe woke up.

She continued to perform with the troupe, and the audience was just as enthusiastic as ever. But Monroe couldn't shake a feeling of unease.

The events of the previous day had left their mark.

Though her performance was still lively and seductive, her smile felt forced. It wasn't the genuine joy of performing she usually had.

Fortunately, the audience was too far away to notice.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

They were more focused on Monroe's voluptuous figure and sensual movements.

After the show, Monroe returned to the hotel.

Two bodyguards approached her. "Miss Monroe, someone has invited you to go somewhere."

Monroe's heart skipped a beat.

Why did this feel so familiar? Was this a repeat of yesterday? But this time, it wasn't gangsters inviting her—it was the troupe's bodyguards.

"May I ask who's asking for me?"

"You'll know when you get there."

Monroe hesitated for a moment but decided to trust the bodyguards, feeling a small flicker of excitement. She agreed to go.

Outside the hotel, two cars were waiting. The driver of the first luxury car was dressed in HD Security's signature black uniform, and there were four more security guards in the car behind. Monroe's suspicions melted away.

The convoy took her to a beachside pier.

Docked there was a massive white yacht, easily over fifty meters long with three levels.

"Miss Monroe, please come aboard," someone invited her respectfully.

Monroe boarded the yacht and was led to the luxurious living room. The interior was opulent, with every modern convenience. A wine cabinet held a selection of expensive bottles—Monroe had learned about fine wines during her training at the company, and she could tell that this cabinet alone held tens of thousands of dollars worth of liquor.

The sofas were plush and wide.

Monroe sat down, testing the cushions.

Who had invited her?

Could it be him?

Could it be Hardy himself?

But she waited for a while, and no one came. Monroe was starting to feel bored when her eyes fell on a script binder on the table. Curious, she picked it up and started reading.

She was immediately drawn into the story.

Some Like It Hot was a comedy, and Monroe quickly became absorbed in its plot. There were gangsters, a chase, disguises, and lots of laughs. The final line, where an old millionaire says, "Nobody's perfect," had her laughing out loud.

Monroe was sure this would be a great movie. She even felt that the female lead was a role she was born to play.

Just as Monroe's thoughts were wandering, the door opened, and she jumped in surprise, remembering where she was and who she might be meeting.

Hardy walked in.

Monroe's heart fluttered—she had been right. It was Hardy.

Seeing her standing there like a startled deer, her wide eyes filled with a mix of fear and awe, Hardy noticed she was holding the script.

Monroe followed his gaze to the script in her hands and realized she was still holding it. Flustered, she quickly set it down, looking nervously at Hardy.

"Mr. Hardy, I…"

Hardy smiled gently. "It's okay. That script was meant for you."

Monroe's heart surged with joy. A script this good, prepared just for her—she felt incredibly lucky.

"You've read it, right?"

Hardy walked over to the wine cabinet, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. He sat down on the sofa and poured them both a drink.

"Yes, I read it while I was waiting for you."

"And what do you think?"

Monroe's face lit up with excitement. "This script is amazing! It's a pure comedy, and I can already tell it's going to be a classic. Whoever wrote it is a genius!"

"I wrote it," Hardy said, handing her a glass of wine.

Monroe accepted the glass, her eyes filled with admiration. She hadn't realized just how talented Hardy was.

Just then, the yacht began to move.

Monroe looked startled.

"Mr. Hardy, where are we going?" she asked curiously.

"Are you scared?" Hardy teased, a playful smile on his lips.

Monroe's cheeks flushed as she recalled the events of the other night. "There's nothing to be afraid of when I'm with you, Mr. Hardy."

Hardy chuckled. "We're heading to Houston."

"Houston?"

Monroe was surprised. She had just left that place, and her memories of it weren't exactly fond.

"Yes, I have some matters to settle there. I invited you along so we could chat and pass the time. We've got a few hours ahead of us, so why don't we talk about the script?"

"Of course!"

Monroe nodded eagerly.

The yacht sped across the sea, with Hardy and Monroe discussing the movie script inside the cabin, and before they knew it, they had arrived in Houston.

The yacht docked at a pier, and Hardy handed the script to Monroe. "Go wait in the bedroom for a bit, I need to meet a few friends."

"Okay," Monroe replied. She took the script and obediently went to the bedroom.

It wasn't long before Lancer and Henry boarded the yacht and joined Hardy in the lounge. "How are things?" Hardy asked as he poured each of them a drink.

"Cohenheim's been scared off and has fled, but we've already tracked him down. He won't get far," Henry reported.

"As for the situation with the planes, a newspaper ran a report, and we had The Global Times issue a clarification. They explained that it was a security operation, conducted at the employer's request for emergency rescue, saving them from being besieged by a gang. We used some aggressive tactics, but HD Security will do whatever it takes to protect our clients."