Stapleton’s gift was a bit… unusual. But for Chelsea, it wasn’t exactly unacceptable.

After all, her second brother had been obsessed with weapons since childhood.

On her fifth birthday, when her tiny hands had just learned to grip things properly, Stapleton had placed a gun in her palm at her birthday party.

That day, the room had fallen into dead silence.

Now, twenty years later, Stapleton hadn’t changed at all—still gifting her deadly tools.

At least this time, instead of a gun, it was a crossbow—which, technically, was progress.

“Don’t underestimate this little thing.” Stapleton held up the mini crossbow, demonstrating how it worked.

“It may look like a toy...