The most bustling city center of City J, the front of the Vientiane City Mall was already guarded by a row of security personnel. The mall was being evacuated, and some customers who wanted to pick up their cars from the underground garage were also told that passage to the garage was currently prohibited. The confused crowd even suspected whether a terrorist incident had occurred.
But despite various inquiries and discussions, those security guards and mall staff kept their lips tightly sealed.
The elevators in the mall also came to a halt, one by one.
"Turn off the surveillance. The higher-ups have instructed that no surveillance is allowed in the underground garage. If 'that person' finds out..." said the supervisor in the monitoring room. The implication was clear, and the staff in the room understood, especially because there was an involuntary tremor in the supervisor's voice when mentioning "that person."
After all, that individual was someone they absolutely could not afford to offend!
Thus, the entire wall of surveillance monitors was shut down.
The underground garage was silent, with no one moving around, and no cars entering or leaving...
Inside a luxury car, Mabel Quinn looked at the man lying beside her. It was a very handsome face, even describable as flawless. Beneath the jet-black hair, his long eyebrows resembled willow leaves, a straight nose, and those sensual thin lips. Most striking were his pitch-black phoenix eyes; Mabel had never seen anyone with such beautifully shaped eyes—dark, deep, slightly narrow, yet even more captivating.
However, at this moment, those phoenix eyes were closed. The man was sound asleep. It was hard to imagine that not long ago, he had been in a state of intense pain, with those eyes filled with deep despair, as if he was in such agony that there was no hope.
Mabel couldn't imagine someone being in that much pain.
If, earlier, she hadn't out of sheer curiosity approached the car upon hearing cries of pain coming from within, she wouldn't have been suddenly pulled into the car by him, nor would she have been tightly held like a lifeline.
She had slapped him hard then. As the crisp sound of the slap echoed inside the car, she thought he would hit back. But unexpectedly, he grabbed her hand instead, pressing it against his cheek, gently rubbing her palm, hoarsely saying, "Be good, don't let me hurt you..."
What on earth was going on? She was bewildered. You have to know, that slap of hers wasn't gentle at all, and there was even a handprint left on his face.
Yet his other hand held her tightly in his arms, so he passed out deeply, while she found herself in a mess, as if the sting of slapping him still lingered in her palm.
It was simply inexplicable. Who on earth was this man?! Why had he been in such pain before? And why did he have to hold onto her?
Was it a flare-up of some illness?
However, none of this had anything to do with her. An instinctive sense of crisis made her feel that this man was dangerous. If she got too close, maybe she would never be able to escape...