“Ahhh!!! I’m so pissed!” Emily Quest broke down.

She should not have accepted the man’s invitation in the first place. Regret sat in her stomach, drowning her in dread.

***

There were a few cars at the hotel’s underground parking lot.

The darkness around them was absolute, and the silence was oppressive.

In the black Rolls-Royce limousine, Christopher Lancelot was languidly sitting on the back seat of the car with his legs crossed and his eyes closed.

He was wearing a white dress shirt and a pair of black trousers.

The first three buttons of his shirt were unfastened, revealing his imposing chest muscle.

The daunting aura exuded by him was intensified in the darkness.

There were two rows of black-clad men standing beside the car. The lineup was formidable.

The people who passed by the parking lot could hardly stop to turn and look at them.

Suddenly, the car door was opened. A young man with the glossy slicked back hair hung his head respectfully. “Master Lancelot,