Chapter 18

Winnie was caught off guard by his direct question, and feeling the weight of his cold, commanding presence, she instinctively tried to hide the truth from him. "At… at home," she stammered. Yulia, walking by with a face mask on, overheard the lie and immediately called out, "No, you're clearly at the hotel! Why are you lying?" The lie was exposed, and Winnie hurriedly hung up the phone. To Van, it sounded like she was being forced into a crisis. Van immediately dialed his assistant's internal line, ordering him to trace Winnie's location. Winnie, after hanging up, placed her hand over her pounding heart and took deep breaths. Yulia watched her face flush and her heart race, and instantly came to her own conclusion. Yulia, more clueless than ever, exclaimed, "So she's not a stalker fan?" Winnie groaned and rubbed her temples. "You've ruined me. Do you think he's going to come after me now?" Yulia, still unaware of the seriousness of the situation, cheerfully said, "I'll just apologize to him later." Winnie's headache deepened. "He's probably only ever been insulted by you. You're—" she gave a thumbs-up, "make sure to put that on your resume." Yulia was was at a loss for words. Meanwhile, on the central avenue of the city's CBD. "Should we call the police?" Eric was already pulling up the contact information for the police department. "If she had a chance to call me, then she could've called 911 directly," Van said, using his sharp analytical mind to piece together the troubling situation. "She's a celebrity—maybe she couldn't call the police directly." Still, he had never expected her to call him. Regardless, saving her was the most important thing. LA was vast, and the drive from downtown Los Angeles to the luxury coastal hotels could take two hours. During that time, Eric's phone never stopped ringing. Two hours later, the hotel manager greeted them at the entrance, visibly nervous. Along with him were several SWAT officers experienced in hostage rescues, four bodyguards, and, just in case, a negotiation specialist. The hotel staff quickly led them to the security room. As the SWAT officers reviewed the floor plans and blueprints, they also pulled up the security footage from the past week. The officers moved quickly but with focus, scanning the footage in silence. After a tense pause, one of them summarized, "Based on the camera records, the only people who have entered this room this week are the guest, her assistant, and the hotel staff." He hesitated before asking, "Could I see the text message again?" Van handed over his phone. "Is it possible that someone has been hiding in her room?" The hotel manager slapped his forehead. "A stalker fan! Yes, it's happened before. There was one guy… his fan hid under the bed!" Under the cold, intense gaze of the man, the manager felt a sudden chill and nervously began to offer an explanation, stuttering, "S-Stalker fans are those kinds of obsessive individuals, the ones who want to possess celebrities for themselves." The SWAT officer gave a conservative suggestion: "This message does seem like a distress signal. It's been 48 hours since anyone last entered the room. Here's the plan, Mr. Marlowe: we'll first use room service to discreetly check on the situation, and then we can decide what to do next." The group split into two elevators and ascended to the top floor. They quickly and quietly set up their positions. Then, a female hotel maid knocked on Winnie's door. "Good morning, room service." Winnie had just finished her post-wrap schedule with David. Hearing the knock, she didn't ask Yulia, who was in the guest bedroom, to open the door. She went barefoot herself. "Just a moment." Her silk green slip dress flowed gently with her delicate legs as she approached the door. The electronic lock clicked open, and outside, seven or eight people stood silently, waiting in position. Inside, the woman greeted them with a lazy, sweet smile. "Good mor—" The word "good" turned into a scream. Her face lost all color, and her trained expression faltered. She immediately covered her face with both hands. "Is this some kind of reality show?!" Van: "..." The SWAT officers, bodyguards, and negotiation specialist: "..." Eric had lived through enough years to have seen all kinds of absurd situations, but he had never seen this before. It took a lot of effort to clear up the misunderstanding. When the SWAT officers and the negotiation specialist finally left, they still looked stunned, their expressions frozen. The bodyguards stood on both sides of the door, doing their best to avoid looking anywhere but straight ahead, though all four of them had their ears straining to hear what the actress had to say. The actress, her mental state clearly drifting, asked, "Should I say thank you?" Van's face darkened, his tone as cold as ice, "No need." Eric, who had been keeping his distance to avoid causing any suspicion, couldn't hold back a laugh. Van heard it, closed his eyes, and his anger was obvious, though it was unclear who he was angry with. "Why send me such a strange message?" Van asked, trying to hold his frustration back. Yulia timidly raised her hand: "Sorry, it was me. I thought you were... a stalker fan." Stalker fans are obsessive, deranged individuals who seek to possess celebrities. The hotel manager's voice echoed in Van's mind. He was so irritated that he loosened his tie with one hand. "Didn't I give you my number that night?" Winnie, feeling guilty, looked away. "I didn't save it." "Why not?" "If I had saved it, it wouldn't have mattered..." Winnie clasped her hands together above her head, her eyes tightly shut. "I'm sorry! It's my fault!"