While in the elevator, she imdiately dialed Irene Spencer’s number.
"Sorry, the number you have dialed cannot be connected."
As the voice prompt ended, several text ssages popped up on her screen. They were all inquiries from journalists who knew her number and had heard the news.
Then, her phone rang again. After hanging up, Anabel Wilton went straight to a news website, where she imdiately saw the top headline.
In the photo, Irene Spencer was raising her face. Her long hair was sared with fruit peels, and half an egg was stuck in it. Her ssy hair parted to reveal a face covered in dirt and lon seed husks...
The delicate Korean makeup was ruined beyond recognition. She looked worse than a beggar.
"Damn it!"
Anabel Wilton’s vision swam, and she almost fainted.
How could all of this happen in less than two hours?!
She rushed out of the elevator, bolted to her car, and sped off toward the hospital.
By the ti Anabel Wilton arrived at the hospital, the journalists outside the ergency room were already packed like sardines, with more constantly flooding in.
To maintain normal working order, the hospital had to bring in more than a dozen security guards to form a human wall at the entrance of the ergency room.
"Excuse , excuse !"
Anabel Wilton didn’t bother to find a parking spot. She simply left her car and pushed her way into the crowd.
A reporter turned, recognized her, and imdiately thrust his recorder towards her.
"Miss Anabel, what is happening with Miss Irene?"
Once he took the lead, the crowd instantly sward her, their caras pointing at Anabel Wilton from all directions.
"At such a late hour, what was Miss Irene doing there?"
"What’s the real cause of this incident?"
...
"Calm down, everyone!" Anabel Wilton said, smoothing her hair. "Once we’ve figured out the truth, we’ll give you an explanation. For now, I’m afraid I have no comnt. Thank you. Please, let through!"
With that, she pushed through the crowd, managing to reach the human wall ford by the security guards, but one of them stopped her just as she was about to slip inside.
"What are you doing?"
"I am Irene Spencer’s assistant. Let in."
The security guard looked her up and down. "Do you have an ID?"
Anabel Wilton searched her bag. In her rush to leave, she had forgotten her Imperial Vision employee ID badge.
"I forgot it. But I really am Irene Spencer’s assistant. Please, let in!"
"You say you’re Miss Irene’s assistant," the guard said, clearly unimpressed, gesturing vaguely at the surrounding crowd. "So do half the people out here. Who really knows what’s going on?"
The security guard looked thoroughly annoyed. Who wouldn’t be, getting woken from a sound sleep in the middle of the night to deal with this ss?
From behind the security guard, a staff mber from Imperial Vision jogged over. Seeing Anabel Wilton, the staffer just frowned.
"Why are you only here now? Hurry in!"
After a quick word with the security guard, the staffer pulled Anabel Wilton into the ergency center, then led her to a ward door, whispering a reminder as they went.
"General Manager Johnson is furious right now. Be prepared."
The staffer pushed open the door, let Anabel Wilton in, and imdiately shut it behind her.
「Inside the ward.」
Irene Spencer had already changed out of her filthy dress and into a hospital gown. Her face had been washed, but her hair was still matted with gri.
Her face was a ss of bruises, one eye was noticeably swollen, and she looked like a recently escaped refugee.
Gerry Johnson, the General Manager of Imperial Vision’s Artist Departnt, stood at the head of Irene’s bed, his face livid as he pointed at her nose and cursed.
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