Chapter 18

Adrian Hartwell slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was cold and empty.

Where am I?

His mind was a haze. He lifted the blanket and looked down at himself.

Where are my clothes?

Strange, fragmented memories began to drift back.

Last night...

Who was that woman?

He tried to piece the night together, but everything was veiled in fog. He rubbed his temples and scanned the room.

No one else was there.

Was it all a dream?

He wondered, but only for a moment. The details were too real, and the feeling left behind was too deeply printed in him.

No. It wasn't a dream.

He was certain that everything he remembered had truly happened.

So why has she vanished? Where did she go?

He fumbled for his crystal on the bed and found it had been set to silent. It showed dozens of missed calls. Stranger still, someone had used it to send a message to his assistant:

If you're busy, don't disturb me.

The time stamp read 1:23 a.m.

Was she the one who sent it?

He called his assistant, his voice flat and cold. "Who brought me to the hotel last night?"

The assistant sounded ready to weep with relief. "Mr. Hartwell! You finally answered!"

"I asked you a question. Who brought me here?"

"Last night you went to the washroom and then disappeared! I called you dozens of times and you never answered, and I was terrified. Then you sent that message saying you were busy, so I didn't dare disturb you again. As for who took you to the hotel, I don't know. Didn't you come by yourself?"

Adrian swallowed his anger, his teeth clenched. "Find the manager of that tavern. Have him pull the recordings from the washroom corridor. I want to see who had the nerve."

The assistant asked cautiously, "Mr. Hartwell, what's wrong? Did something happen to you at the tavern?"

Adrian had gone to the tavern only to attend the birthday gathering of a business partner's director. He had also stopped at the luxury boutique in the Grand Arcade to buy a handbag as a gift for that same person.

As project director of the Eldermere branch of the Hartwell Group, he couldn't avoid drinking at such events. After a few rounds, he was clearly a little drunk.

He had meant to go to the washroom and splash water on his face.

Instead, the moment he stepped out of it, he lost consciousness. Next thing he knew, he was in a hotel.

And a strange woman had...

The thought flared into a suppressed rage that made him want to strike something.

"Enough talk!" he growled. "Get me those recordings now."

"Yes, Mr. Hartwell, I'll see to it. But you have an important meeting today with the head of the Harrington Group, and you have only one hour left. Where are you? I'll send the driver, Young Zachary, to pick you up..."

Adrian's eyes narrowed. "The head of the Harrington Group? You mean that old fox Edmund Harrington?"

"Yes, sir," the assistant warned. "We need to expand our market in Eldermere, and that means dealing with Mr. Harrington. You absolutely cannot offend him."

"I know. You don't need to remind me."

The assistant wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. This man is impossible to please. "Mr. Hartwell, you still haven't told me where you are..."

Adrian glanced at the bedside table, where the hotel's name and room number were printed.

"Wanderlight Hotel. Room 806."

"Understood, I'll send someone right away. Anything else?"

"Tell the driver to bring me a clean suit."

"Yes, Mr. Hartwell."

Just before hanging up, Adrian remembered something. "And get that recording business settled quickly!"

The assistant could only curse silently. What a tyrant. He drew a deep breath and made his voice polite. "Yes, Mr. Hartwell. Rest assured, I'll do it as soon as I can."

In the bustle of the city, a black, top-of-the-line carriage rolled like a jewel through the dawn toward the heart of Eldermere.

It eventually reached Starharbor Bay, the most exclusive district in the city.

The carriage slowed, as if matching the quiet, mysterious air of the place.

At the center of the bay stood a magnificent island estate.

The island belonged entirely to the Harrington family. It covered about sixty thousand square feet, and the grand manor on it took up nearly twelve thousand. The whole house was built in a sun-washed southern style and rose five floors high.

The island had every luxury: an infinity pool, a ball court, a tennis court. At its edge lay a private harbor, where a vast yacht rested quietly on the water, breathtaking in its splendor.

As Hannah stepped out of the carriage, she saw fifty or sixty servants in uniform standing in two neat rows, bowing and calling out together:

"Welcome home, Miss!"

She had never seen anything like it. From the moment the carriage crossed onto the island, she had been stunned by the Harringtons' grandeur. Now she was speechless.

The servants popped confetti and opened sparkling wine, celebrating her return with joyous cheer.

Edmund and Eleanor stood quietly before the manor, their eyes fixed on her, their faces glowing with happiness.

Behind them stood a handsome young man.

He was tall and straight, with a remarkable presence. He looked seven-tenths like Hannah, and his eyes especially were the same as hers, inheriting Eleanor's elegant, upswept eyes.

"Hannah, we prepared all of this just for you! How do you like it? Are you happy?"

Eleanor couldn't wait. She hurried over, took her daughter's hand, and looked at her with eager hope.