Everyone who came in had to pass the security team’s ID check.
So how did Larry Mitchell get through? Or did he find another way in?
Was someone helping him from the inside?
No one could say for sure.
Isabella Austin paused for a moment, then replied softly, “We definitely need to look into this.”
Emily Blair just smiled, said nothing more, and walked away.
As soon as she stepped out, she saw several security guards stationed outside a room with the door firmly shut.
She walked over and asked, “Is Larry Mitchell in there?”
The guards studied her face for a moment, then recognized who she was and nodded. “Yeah, he’s inside. He’s making a real scene. You probably shouldn’t go in.”
Some of the things Larry Mitchell was shouting were so vile that even the guards, who thought they’d heard it all, found them hard to stomach.
Emily Blair was slight and delicate, her pale skin almost translucent, her small face framed by loose, shapeless clothes that hung off her slender frame. She looked as if a strong breeze might carry her off.
The guards hesitated, not wanting to expose this young woman to Larry Mitchell’s venom.
But Emily just lowered her gaze, smiling as if none of it bothered her.
Compared to the slander and malice she’d endured in her past life, Larry Mitchell’s insults didn’t even register.
She said quietly, “It’s all right. I just have a few questions for him.”
Seeing she wasn’t going to back down, the guards gave in and opened the door.
The room, in this six-star hotel, was soundproof—until now, nothing from inside had been audible. But as soon as the door swung open, Larry Mitchell’s voice exploded out, hysterical and raw, as if he was screaming from the bottom of his lungs.
“Goddammit! Let me go! Fucking hell, I’ll kill you, Emily Blair!”
“You worthless bitch! Your whole fucking family—!”


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