Chapter 300

That was it. The last thread of Vincent's sanity snapped.

Vincent stood rigid, dead center in the lavish, candlelit eatery. The sickening echoes of muffled moans from the line rang in his memory, punctuated by Claude's offhanded, venomous remark, "Just a man and a woman, alone in a hotel room."

Silence pressed in on him from all sides.

Vincent was livid. No messages. No explanation. Hannah had stood him up to meet Claude-and at a hotel,no less. To think about all his efforts put into tonight's dinner arrangement. The wait he'd endured, his expectation, his attempts to salvage their relationship-it was all a pathetic joke.

With a guttural roar, he grabbed the table's edge and flung it with reckless force.

Crash! Splinters of glass and splashes of scarlet wine drenched the rich, velvety rug.

Vincent stood in the wreckage, his chest heaving, fury radiating off him in suffocating waves.

He didn't spare the destruction a single glance. Picking up his phone, he ignored the wine smearing the screen and jabbed Derek's contact.

The call connected almost instantly.

"Mr. Jones?" Derek's voice teetered on bewilderment.

Vincent's words rasped out low and raw, each word a shard of ice. "Get the word out. All Jones Group hotels in Dorbarrow-lock the doors for the night. And I mean every single one of them."

The line went silent for a second.

"W-What?" Derek sputtered, disbelief flooding his voice. He stumbled for clarity, calculations piling fast."Mr. Jones, you have to reconsider! That's an operational breach! Halting all functions abruptly with zero context will trigger chaos. We'll bleed revenue, and we're talking over ten million just from core properties alone, not to mention the displaced guests, the corporate contracts, the damage to our brand..."

"Track her down," Vincent cut in, the phrase slicing clean through Derek's protest.

Vincent was determined to locate Hannah. She owed him an explanation-and he'd get it, regardless of the fallout.

The silence on the other end was heavy.

Derek, though shaken, quickly grasped the reason behind Vincent's unreasonable orders. HHe'd already heard about the commotion at the Cloudtop Restaurant. He knew exactly who"her"was. After a moment,his voice returned, bleak and burdened. "Understood."

Ten minutes later, Vincent tore through Dorbarrow's main stretch in a sleek, high-performance sports car,its engine howling.

Then, his phone rang with an incoming call. It was Derek.

"Mr. Jones, the directive's in motion. Units are pulling guests out-we've initiated shutdown," Derek reported tensely. "We're already clocking fifteen million in losses, and that number's rising fast." He hesitated. "And we haven't located her yet."

Vincent didn't blink, his hold on the wheel unshaken. His gaze was dark, a storm held behind his irises."Alright," he muttered, voice flat and unreadable. The financial impact registered as background noise.

Then, like a blade to the chest-a gut-twisting thought: what if the call was fake? What if Hannah's phone was with someone else?

He crushed the gas pedal, the engine shrieking as the car bolted ahead. He darted through the lanes,ignoring horns and screeches as he surged forward. He had to get there. Faster. He just had to be faster.

He screeched to a halt in front of Sterling Heights-Hannah's apartment building. The tires wailed against the asphalt. He killed the engine.

The roar died, plunging the world into an abrupt, ringing silence.

Vincent was out in a heartbeat, marching toward the entrance.

The elevator pinged, and he barreled down the hallway. He skipped the bell and slammed his fist against the door.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The pounding echoed ominously down the corridor.

Then, he heard it, footsteps approaching from inside. His lungs seized. Hannah hadn't gone anywhere.A wave of dizzying relief washed over him. The call had been a lie. Claude had lied. His jaw unclenched,just a little.

The lock clicked. The door swung open. But it wasn't Hannah.It was Margaret.

The fragile hope flickered out in an instant, replaced by ice and hollowness.

Margaret's drowsiness faded fast, replaced by irritation and suspicion. "Why are you here?"

He said nothing, eyes fixed behind her. Before she could intercept, he brushed past her, shoulders tense.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Margaret's voice spiked, but Vincent didn't acknowledge her,striding toward Hannah's room.

He gripped the handle and twisted hard, flinging the door wide.

The room was empty.

He froze, a sharp smile curling bitterly across his face. What a fool he was. He'd actually thought she'd be there.

"Have you invaded enough?" Margaret's voice trembled with fury. "Get out. Now!"

Vincent rotated slowly, throat bobbing as he forced out a dry, pained, "Sorry."

As he turned to leave, Raymond, roused by the noise, emerged from his room. "What happened?"

"Don't ask me," Margaret snapped, still glaring at Vincent. "Some lunatic barged in past midnight and scared me half to death!"