Miss Beautiful C.E.O and her system

The commotion drew attention.

As the siren grew louder, curiosity followed—and tension spiked when tire screeches echoed down the street.

People patted their chests nervously, eyes darting from building to building, wondering where the police were heading.

That tension turned to alarm when they saw who had responded.

Spirit Fox.

Province N's elite unit, only dispatched for the most dangerous and critical situations.

The siren's wail rose to a chaotic crescendo. Whispers spread like wildfire.

More bystanders gathered, asking each other—What happened? Who was involved?

But upstairs, far from the murmuring crowd, reality darkened.

The man had already ripped the woman's clothes.

He had waited days—stalking from the shadows—and couldn't bear seeing his ex-wife and daughter living peacefully after the divorce.

The woman tried to push him away, weakly, trembling.

Her resistance was no match for his weight and strength.

Futile.

Her face was sore and red—fresh from repeated blows meant to beat her into submission.

What remained in her eyes was a flickering defiance, wrapped in tears.

But pain had worn her thin. Not everyone could endure violence and remain unbroken.

He had slapped her over and over until she stopped screaming.

Maybe out of twisted pity—or selfish lust—he had avoided striking her face to the point of disfigurement.

But his cruelty only deepened. His hands gripped her hair like reins, yanking her at will.

Torn clothes. Bare skin.

A predator's rhythm, oblivious to her pain.

Ruthless. Mechanical.

He was about to make the final move.

And then—

The siren hit full volume. A scream of justice descending.

The sound shattered the moment.

His pent-up madness jolted. Guilt crept in—

Even though he'd heard sirens countless times before, this time, it clawed into his ears.

Because when someone's committing evil,

even the wind sounds like a warning.

He froze.

Tried to breathe. Calm himself.

Just ignore it, he thought.

But the siren screamed louder—

directly beneath him.

The sound came from right outside his building.

What was going on?

He didn't notice the woman's eyes—once dulled in defeat—flicker with a glint of hope.

Even if the odds were slim, if there was even a chance the police were responding to her case… she clung to it.

What if...

The man, curious and cautious, stepped out of the room to check—

Bang!

A loud crash at the door made him jump.

Then came the unmistakable sound of someone trying to force it open.

His heart sank.

Police.

It had to be. Nine out of ten, it was the police.

Panic overtook him. He turned to run, but the door was already cracking open too quickly.

His mind spiraled.

What now? What do I do?!

He looked around frantically.

There was nowhere to go—no way to escape from this height.

A hostage? That might buy time—

No, that would only make things worse.

Surrender? Maybe?

He had no idea how he even stumbled back toward the woman's room, but when he saw the door closing on him—his blood boiled.

She had heard the sounds too. She knew.

She was trying to lock him out. Trying to protect herself and wait for rescue.

"Woman, think about your child! Don't be naïve!" he shouted through the crack, voice filled with venom.

Her grip on the door wavered.

She hesitated—for her child. As a mother, her rationality lost when her child was at risk but the moment of hesitation allowed the man to barge in.

That was all he needed.

He forced the door open and shoved his way in.

"How could you?! She's your daughter too!" the woman screamed.

"Why should I care?"

That was the commotion the Spirit Fox operators heard as they breached the apartment.

The operator saw the lost child shivering beneath the desk and felt a pang of distress—but there was no time. More pressing matters demanded attention.

Her partner had already moved past her position, advancing down the hallway. She quickly picked up her pace, rifle held at a high ready.

As they hurried toward the source of the noise, the lead operator spotted a door that had just shut—followed by the sound of a lock turning. Cries. Curses.

She signaled with a gesture. Her partner squeezed her shoulder in response: ready.

They skipped over the unchecked rooms, rifles trained forward. The rear operator kept watch behind to guard against surprises, even though the intel indicated only a single hostile.

No time to waste.

The pointwoman raised her leg and kicked the doorknob, flinging the door open. She charged in, clearing the left side.

"Police!"

Her partner mirrored her, clearing the opposite corner. Both swept in and extended along the walls.

The man was on top of the woman, who had collapsed to the floor. Disheveled, near naked—there was no mistaking what had been happening.

Twin beams of red laser danced across his body, aimed at center mass. He froze, terrified.

"Stay away from the woman!"

"On your knees! Right now!"

As commands rang out, the lead operator didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, hook-kicking his ankle and sweeping his foot out from under him. Before he could react, she smashed her rifle's buttstock into his back, throwing him further off-balance.

He collapsed with a thud.

Without pause, she grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into the hard floor with force that made the room tremble. She didn't care about the injuries—he didn't deserve care.

For good measure, she struck his waist again with a sharp blow, then slung her rifle behind her shoulder to pull out a zip tie. Swiftly, efficiently, she cuffed him.

Her partner stayed vigilant, covering her during the takedown—but once the man was restrained, she turned her focus to the victim.

Gently, she knelt beside the trembling woman and wrapped her in the nearest discarded clothing to cover her shame.

"My daughter, please!" the woman sobbed, voice barely coherent.

"She's okay. We found her in the other room," the operator reassured, calm but warm.

"Can you… can you take me to her?" the woman begged, clutching the clothes tighter.

"Of course," she nodded, then glanced over at her partner—and gave a small twitch of her lips.

There was no worry about leaving her behind.

Her partner stood tall, boot pressed down firmly onto the man's back, most of her weight pinning him to the ground.

He groaned in pain.

She didn't flinch.

Stepping on a suspect was probably against protocol.

The operator shook her head with a faint smile. Rules and restraints like those didn't bind them—not Spirit Fox.

The mother, now rescued, patted her chest and exhaled deeply, still in disbelief.

Saved.

Just like that.

So quickly, so easily.

For a moment, she had thought it was over. No one had noticed the incident. Everything had happened too fast—she hadn't even had time to scream or struggle before being dragged inside the apartment.

Her daughter had cried out, yes—but would any neighbor have really noticed? Or cared?

She looked at her ex-husband, cuffed and pinned to the floor, and her expression darkened. Her jaw clenched.

A part of her wanted to end him right there, to remove any chance of future danger.

The nearby operator noticed. She stepped beside the woman, gently nudging her shoulder, fingers pressing lightly against the soft skin.

"It's over," she said in a calm, grounding tone. "Don't worry. He won't be getting out."

The woman nodded stiffly, trying to compose herself. "Thank you, officers."

Only then did she realize who had saved her: Spirit Fox.

The infamous unit—known to handle the province's worst cases.

Suddenly, she turned toward the man and, to everyone's surprise, kicked him.

Hard.

Then again.

And again—each strike aimed at his side, a mix of fear and fury erupting all at once.

She couldn't believe she had once loved this man. Couldn't believe she'd married him.

Before the wedding, he had been the perfect gentleman: calm, collected, attentive. His masculinity carried gentleness, and that contrast had charmed her heart.

But it was all an act.

Within six months, the mask had slipped. The truth had emerged.

Violent. Controlling. Manipulative.

Thinking of all that time wasted, the betrayal, the pain—her heart twisted.

Tears spilled.

Her kicks didn't stop.

The operators watched closely but didn't interfere. They monitored her, ready to intervene if she crossed a line—so she wouldn't do anything she'd regret, or anything that might earn her legal trouble.

Then, softly, the operator beside her patted her shoulder again. "Let's go to your daughter."

The mother blinked and slowly nodded. Her rage eased as the instinct of motherhood returned.

At least… at least her daughter was her pride. The only good thing that came from that failed marriage.

Under the operator's gentle guidance, she left the room, walking to console her frightened child.

Tonight, both mother and daughter had suffered something deep. Something that might scar for a long time.

Meanwhile, the operators radioed in.

"Intervention complete," she said. "Requesting medical support and domestic response units."

Minutes later, another siren rose outside, followed by the heavy rhythm of boots rushing up the stairwell.

"Province N Police!" a female voice called out from the hallway.

"Over here!" the operator replied, guessing the comers were her fellow sisters reinforcing them.

Two more officers—female operators—entered and quickly assessed the situation. One of the newcomers approached to ask about the situation and the other moved toward the mother and daughter.

Fortunately, women, after all, were often best suited for these moments.

To comfort the ones left in pain.

To tend to the wounds no medic could see.

Shortly after, more police units—alerted by the dispatch code—began flooding in. The specialized response team for this type of case was still en route, but the scene was already drawing significant attention.

The commotion had grown so loud that several neighbors were now crowding around the apartment doorway, trying to get answers. The newly arrived officers immediately began pushing them back, keeping the area clear.

Moments later, the medics arrived, weaving through the gathering crowd. Now, the entire street was clogged with emergency vehicles, their flashing lights painting the surrounding buildings in a chaotic dance of red and blue.

Detectives followed not long after. Female patrol officers—trained specifically to care for victims and gently extract testimony—took over from Spirit Fox. The operators stepped back, their job done.

From an external, almost utilitarian perspective, one could argue that Spirit Fox's deployment had been overkill. A regular police response team would have sufficed.

But then again—who made Spirit Fox so free, so fast to respond, and so precise with their intel?

The answer was simple: Athena.

Their detection systems had no rival.

A/N: This scene was inspired by the real event three years ago or more. Unfortunately, the mother couldn't escape the mishaps though the perpetrator was caught, the punishment was a little too light in my opinion. I'll explain why i included this scene in the next chapter-surely, not becuz of punishment.