Chapter 30
"What are you looking at?"
A strange male voice suddenly whispered in her ear.
Evelyn Sinclair spun around, her back hitting the cold air conditioning panel.
The metal's chill seeped through her silk blouse like a venomous snake slithering up her spine.
Ryan Holt's face was inches from hers.
She could even smell the scent of his body wash mixed with lingering dampness.
"Hello." Evelyn forced composure, sidestepping half a step away.
Plink.
A drop of water fell from his hair onto her hand.
The rising superstar was undeniably handsome—his sharp features beneath wet hair even more striking than on screen.
But Evelyn sensed danger.
Unlike Alexander Kingsley's reassuring dominance, this man made her entire body tense.
"Horizon Media, Evelyn Sinclair." She flashed her press pass. "Scheduled interview."
Ryan suddenly raised his arm, trapping her against the wall.
"How deep?" He raised a suggestive brow.
Disgust churned in Evelyn's stomach.
A nobody three months ago, now he thought he could look down on everyone.
"Mr. Holt," she met his leering gaze, "maintain professional distance."
His eyes locked onto her flushed cheeks like he'd discovered treasure.
The room was stifling, yet this woman's stare remained icy.
"Aren't you hot, Miss Sinclair?" He deliberately leaned closer. "Want to... relocate?"
Before she could react, he suddenly bent to grab her.
"Ah!"
A scream echoed through the suite.
By the time Ryan collapsed to his knees, his forehead already bore a dark bruise.
His assistant barely opened the door before a flying phone smashed into his face.
"Stop her!" Ryan roared, clutching his arm.
When the entourage rushed in, the hallway stood empty.
"Isabella..." Ryan's trembling fingers dialed. "There's been a... complication..."
"Useless!" Isabella Winslow's shriek nearly shattered his eardrum. "Do you know how hard I worked to convince Alexander to catch her in the act?"
The call ended with a violent click.
Ryan slumped onto the sofa, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
......
Inside the black Maybach, Alexander's knuckles whitened around an anonymous letter.
"Trading your body for an interview?" His冷笑 dripped with contempt. "How impressive, Evelyn."
Ethan Miller shrank in his seat, not daring to breathe.
Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Sir! It's Miss Sinclair!"
Near the hotel's revolving doors, the staggering figure could only be Evelyn.
Her cheeks burned crimson, steps unsteady—yet she death-gripped a recorder.
Alexander's gaze darkened.
This was the Evelyn his mother called "poorly raised"?
Spoiled rotten enough to abandon all principles?