The hotel manager shook his head, his tone respectful. “That’s all of it, Ms. Hart. All of yesterday’s recordings are here.”
“Are you looking for someone? If you like, you can describe them, and I can help you search.”
Liliana slowly lowered her gaze. “No, that won’t be necessary. I must have been mistaken.”
She was confused but didn’t dwell on it, assuming Amelia had simply gotten it wrong. Kids were known for spinning wild tales and letting their imaginations run away with them.
Liliana looked up apologetically. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
Without another thought, she turned and left the hotel.
Once she was gone, the hotel manager let out a sharp breath, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his forehead. With a flicker in his eyes, he quickly grabbed the recording and knocked on the door of the adjacent room.
Knock, knock.
“Enter.”
A cool, detached, and raspy voice came from within.
The manager carefully turned the handle and stepped inside. “Mr. Cooper,” he said respectfully. “Ms. Hart has left. She didn’t suspect anything.”
The elegant, distinguished man sitting on the leather sofa was none other than Linton—the man who was supposed to be dead.
His dark lashes were lowered. His face hadn't changed much, but a closer look revealed a new layer of steady gravity, adding a mature, masculine charm. A faint scar, about the length of a fingernail, marked the tail of his sharp right eyebrow, lending his handsome features a cold, intimidating edge. When his face was stern, he projected an aura of formidable authority, like a noble, unapproachable statue.
A cigarette with a glowing red tip was held between his fingers. His deep, narrow eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke in a low voice. “Well done.”

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