Mitchel ordered, âVerify if Raegan was here recently.
â
Matteo felt Mitchel was deceiving himself.
Why would Raegan visit him?
Mitchel continued, âKeep a close watch on Katieâs actions, especially her interactions with my mother, and keep me informed.
â
Mitchel sometimes wondered if Lucianaâs mental stability was deteriorating because of Katieâs 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, âIs everything okay?â
Raegan snapped back to reality, shook her head, and replied, âItâs all good.
â
Her mind had been on the Dixon familyâs illegitimate son.
Yet, she felt Mitchel didnât need her worry.
His cleverness had led him to remarkable business achievements at a young age.
Surely, he wouldnât be outmaneuvered by an illegitimate son that easily.
She felt she was overthinking it.
Then, her phone rang.
After answering, Raegan announced, âIâm on my way.
â
It was the day of her press conference, and she was nearly late because of these distractions.
âWhere to? I can give you a ride,â Stefan offered.
With time pressing, Raegan accepted Stefanâs 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 Raeganâs 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.
âIâm sorry, sir, but unless youâre a guest of the hotel, entry is not permitted.
â
It wasnât 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, âWho says Iâm not a guest? I am!â
The security guard replied, âIf thatâs the case, please provide your name and ID number, and Iâll verify it for you.
â