There was a fault in Laura's memory.
She couldn't recall how she had arrived at the hotel.
Julian was quick to speak, his tone more certain than ever. "I told you. That guy—he's not normal. You should have listened to me before. Now, do you believe me?"
His mind raced back to the time when his men were taken into the police station one by one. John had been behind that incident, and Julian now knew firsthand how dangerous the young man could be.
"That's why I'm telling you," Julian pressed, his voice edged with urgency. "We can't provoke him."
But Laura refused to believe him.
"You're just making excuses for your own incompetence," she snapped. "You didn't get the job done, and now you're blaming someone else."
Julian was speechless.
He had no solid proof to show that John was behind it all. His men, once arrested on charges of prostitution, had forgotten everything about the events surrounding their arrests. There were no traces left, not even in the filming equipment.
A few of the more resourceful paparazzi had switched to live-streaming via their phones, hoping it would keep them safe from whatever John was doing. But that only made things worse.
At first, the live streams seemed fine. But every so often, their phone signals would cut out for a minute or two. Not a big deal, right? But when the signal returned, something bizarre happened: the footage would change.
Instead of the usual shots of following John, the cameras now aimed at the paparazzi themselves. They spoke to the camera, complaining about how tired they were of trailing the "handsome young man" and even joking about taking a break to "have some fun."
Then, the streams turned to something far worse—videos of the paparazzi engaging in debauchery, without realizing it.
The viewers' comments flooded in, mocking them. Some even suggested that these paparazzi should do anything to get famous, even if it meant resorting to self-destruction.
In the aftermath, the paparazzi couldn't remember anything about those live streams, let alone what they had said or done. They were terrified. From that point on, they avoided live streaming altogether.
Despite these strange occurrences, Laura remained skeptical. "I'll go to New York myself," she decided. "I'll see if it's as weird as you claim."
Julian had mentioned that Danson had returned to the U.S. and was hiding in New York, so Laura planned to see him while she was there.
Once in New York, Laura checked into a presidential suite. After meeting Danson, she returned to her residence. She vividly remembered everything until about five in the afternoon, but then a strange blank period started. From five o'clock to half-past eight in the evening, she couldn't remember a single thing.
That's when the truth dawned on her. John was behind it all. He had orchestrated everything.
"Julian," she said with a contemplative frown, "that young man… he must be something more. We need to back off. This is too dangerous."
"Back off?" Laura cut him off before he could finish his sentence. "Are you telling me to quit? I, Laura, swore that I would ruin Anita's reputation for good. Now, you want me to give up? How do I give up?"
Her voice was sharp with fury, and Julian, intimidated, remained silent. He was just a small-time paparazzo, after all, and didn't dare challenge her.
After a moment, Laura asked, "You said that the young man went out of the room, right?"
Julian nodded. "I'm sure it was him."
"Well then," she said, her voice resolute, "since John came to me, I need to find out who he is. We're going to the hotel reception."
Without another word, Laura stormed out of the room.
"Laura!" Julian called after her, "Don't you want to put on some clothes first?"
It wasn't until Laura heard his voice that she realized she was still completely naked. The rush of adrenaline had caused her to forget entirely.
With a sour expression, she quickly dressed. She didn't ask Julian to look away—she was too irritated. First, she slipped into her tight dress, followed by her white silk stockings and heels.
Once dressed, they took the elevator to the first floor and made their way to the hotel's reception desk. Laura approached the young receptionist, her tone calm but demanding.
"I need you to help me check the registration details for the man who brought me here," she said, her gaze steady.
If John had indeed brought her to the hotel, his information would be in the hotel's system.
The receptionist smiled politely, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "Don't worry, ma'am. We take client privacy very seriously. We won't leak any information."
Laura raised an eyebrow, immediately realizing the receptionist misunderstood her. The woman thought she was only reminding her to keep things discreet. After all, Laura was well-known, and anyone who checked in with a famous woman like her would certainly expect confidentiality.
But that wasn't what Laura meant.
"You misunderstand," Laura said coolly. "I'm asking about the man's registration. If John brought me here, you should have his information in your system, correct?"
The receptionist blinked, clearly unsure how to respond to a request that was outside the usual confidentiality protocols. Laura wasn't asking for confidentiality; she was demanding answers.
But the receptionist, nervous and eager to please, hesitated before answering, "I'll check immediately for you, ma'am."