Mitchel ordered, “Verify if Raegan was here recently.”
Matteo felt Mitchel was deceiving himself. Why would Raegan visit him?
Mitchel continued, “Keep a close watch on Katie’s actions, especially her interactions with my mother, and keep me informed.”
Mitchel sometimes wondered if Luciana’s mental stability was deteriorating because of Katie’s misleading words. His gaze was icy and sharp. He wished it was just a misconception.
At the elevator, Stefan waited for Raegan. Upon seeing Raegan, he showed concern, asking, “Is everything okay?”
Raegan snapped back to reality, shook her head, and replied, “It’s all good.”
Her mind had been on the Dixon family’s illegitimate son. Yet, she felt Mitchel didn’t need her worry. His cleverness had led him to remarkable business achievements at a young age. Surely, he wouldn’t be outmaneuvered by an illegitimate son that easily. She felt she was overthinking it.
Then, her phone rang.
After answering, Raegan announced, “I’m on my way.”
It was the day of her press conference, and she was nearly late because of these distractions.
“Where to? I can give you a ride,” Stefan offered.
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With time pressing, Raegan accepted Stefan’s offer.
They reached the hotel hosting the press conference.
Stefan was concerned about Raegan, so he decided to follow her to the scene.
Raegan and Stefan entered the venue together, not knowing a chilling stare followed them.
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Only after they went in did the man step out from behind the flowers.
Watching Raegan’s retreating figure, he glared with ominous intent.
The man following Raegan made his way toward the hotel but was intercepted before entering.
The security guard regarded the man with a slight frown. “I’m sorry, sir, but unless you’re a guest of the hotel, entry is not permitted.”
It wasn’t that the security guard took pleasure in demeaning others.
It was simply that this man was markedly disheveled. Clad in what was once a white T-shirt now transformed into a stiff, dark hue due to neglect, emitting a pungent odor from a distance.
His face was obscured by a long, unkempt beard, clumps of ice melded within, resembling a cake-like texture. His fingernails coated with grimy residue, scarcely a clean spot discernible. This man bore the visage of a homeless individual who had traversed many a weary road.
Challenged by the security guard, the man countered, “Who says I’m not a guest? I am!”
The security guard replied, “If that’s the case, please provide your name and ID number, and I’ll verify it for you.”