Chapter 620

Vincent walked back into his table, his expression carved from stone, every line of his face tightened in controlled restraint. Before he could even lower himself into his chair, his sharp eyes caught a fleeting motion-a man at the next table discreetly dropping a small white pill into a glass of red wine.

Instinct flickered, but he quickly smothered it. He was not the sort who meddled in strangers' affairs. With practiced indifference, he took his seat, dismissing the matter from immediate thought.

Across the table, Amy Jimenez, the client he had kept waiting, leaned forward with a faint smile of curiosity."Mr. Jones, you were gone for quite some time. May I ask what delayed you?"

"Just a personal errand," Vincent replied smoothly, his tone calm and unreadable.′′Myapologies for your wait.Shall we continue?"

Yet, despite his outward composure, his focus fractured. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Hannah returning to the dining area. She slipped into a seat directly opposite the same man who had tampered with the wine moments earlier.

A muscle twitched in Vincent's jaw. Could that man's target be Hannah?

The thought sliced through him with unexpected force, stirring an irritation that he could neither explain nor suppress. How annoying.

Vincent's gaze darkened as he watched Hannah and that man raise their glasses. Whether through ignorance or misplaced trust, Hannah took several sips without hesitation. His fingers tightened against the table's edge, his frown deepening until his expression hardened completely.

Moments later, the brief meeting between Hannah and that man ended. After a short exchange, they rose and exited the restaurant together.

Vincent's face turned grim. He pulled out his phone and sent a message to Derek, who was waiting in the car. "Follow Hannah's car. Track her movements and ensure she's unharmed. Keep me updated every

Pushing aside his unease, Vincent turned back to the table, resuming the conversation with Amy.His responses were efficient, clipped, and professional. He finalized the cooperation details and signed the necessary documents without betraying distraction.

Once Amy departed, Vincent made his way to his car, where the heavy quiet pressed in as he waited for Derek's update. He told himself there was nothing to worry about. Derek was competent,cautious-there should be no cause for alarm.

But as minutes dragged into half an hour, and the silence stretched unbroken, a chill coiled tighter in Vincent's chest.

At last, his phone buzzed. He snatched it up, only for Derek's shaken voice to break through. "Mr. Jones-it's bad! We can't rush in. The man with Ms. Scott has influence-serious influence! He's taken her to the presidential suite on the top floor of the Parkview Hotel. From the looks of it, things might turn ugly. You might need to come personally!"

Vincent's jaw locked. "Useless," he hissed.

Logic told him to stay out of it. A clingy ex-wife was careless enough to drink from a glass tempered by a strange man. None of it warranted his interference.

But that cold reasoning was no match for the clawing dread beneath his ribs. A voice he couldn't silence warned him-if he didn't act now, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

The thought infuriated him, yet his body refused to obey his mind. "Keep watching them," he ordered curtly.

Then, without another word, he slammed the door of his car shut and sped toward the Parkview Hotel.

Within minutes, Vincent reached the top floor of the Parkview Hotel.

The corridor was lined with Derek and several bodyguards, their faces strained with tension.

"Mr. Jones!" Derek rushed to himn, speaking quickly and low. "The man who brougt Ms. Scott here is Rodney Griffin-the only son of Fred Griffin, chairman of Griffin Group. They're one of our main partners!"

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He continued rapidly, "Rodney is notoriously lecherous. He's known for trapping female associates with drugs and coercion. Every victim's been ruined afterward. This hotel belongs to the Griffin family, and the top floor is reserved for him, with the staff answering to him. That's why we haven't dared storm in."

Vincent's expression darkened to something lethal. As he neared the room door, the muffled sound of coarse laughter seeped through the walls. A frigid fury radiated from him. "Break down the door."

Nate stepped forward to assess it, his tone grave. "Mr. Jones, this is a reinforced blast-proof door-custom-built. Normal tools won't work. To force it open, we'd need specialized gear and time."

Vincent's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Then find a way. I don't care what it takes-if you have to blast it apart, do it. Just get that door open-now."

"Understood!" Nate snapped, quickly mobilizing the team.

The hallway tensed under the sharp pressure of urgency.

Meanwhile, inside the suite's bedroom, Hannah groggily opened her eyes. Her head throbbed, and her body felt limp and powerless.

Her vision swam in and out of clarity before slowly sharpening, shapes and colors aligning into focus.

When awareness finally returned, terror struck her like a cold wave-there was a thin, wiry man leaning over her. As her sight steadied, recognition chilled her to the bone-it was Rodney, the very client she had been meeting with only hours ago to discuss business. Memory flared painfully clear: the car ride after dinner, the sudden fog in her mind, the dizzying heaviness pulling her under-and now, awakening here, in an unfamiliar hotel room.Realization struck like lightning. The drink had been drugged.

Now, she was sprawled across the bed, herlimbs weak, her wrists caught in the cruel grip of a red rope."Get off me!" she cried, mustering what strength she could, shoving at Rodney, but her body refused to obey.Her feeble attempts only seemed to inflame his excitement.

Rodney's lips twisted into a lewd grin as he pulled the rope tighter, his voice dripping with mockery. "Easy there, sweetheart. Let's get these hands tied first. Makes the game a little more interesting, don't you think?"