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-!"

The guards flinched at the barrage of insults, their nerves on edge. One of them frowned and muttered, "Ms. Blair, maybe you really shouldn't go in. The police will be here soon."

He glanced at Emily, hesitating again.

But Emily's expression didn't change, not even a flicker, as if his tirade was little more than static.

She turned the corners of her lips upward in a faint smile. “It's fine. Don't worry about me."

“.....All right, just be careful. It took all of us to keep him down."

The guards left, pulling the door shut behind them.

Emily stood at the threshold, her gaze cool and steady as she looked at Larry Mitchell.

He was tied up, wrists and ankles bound, two or three guards still holding him down. Even so, he thrashed and fought, face flushed and veins bulging, his features twisted with rage, never ceasing his stream of obscenities.

The guards were sweating, exasperated by his relentless struggle.

Nearby, a two-meter-long red neon sign with "Scandal" flashing in bold letters still glowed in the room.

Hearing movement, Larry Mitchell jerked his head up, eyes blazing. When he saw Emily, his hatred only intensified, his hoarse shouts turning even uglier.

"You fucking bitch! Emily Blair, you're nothing but trash!"

He spat out curses, voice raw from screaming, but still he refused to stop.

Nothing he said seemed to touch Emily. She felt nothing, not even a ripple.

She folded her arms and strolled over, looking down at him with a faint, almost amused smile.

Larry, panting, spat, “Emily Blair, I swear I'll make you pay! I won't ever let this go, never!"

Emily said quietly, “No need to rush. Say whatever you want. But I have just one question for you."

Larry spat at her feet, glaring with wild eyes. "Get lost! Don't pretend to care." Emily ignored his hostility and pressed on, “Tell me how did you get in here?"