Chapter 180

After several frantic attempts with no reaction, she was about to give up when he suddenly walked toward the car.

Hope surged through her again.

But he simply bent down and used the car's side mirror to check his hair.

Latisha's lips thinned in frustration. Then, her eyes darted to the dashboard. There was a lighter.

She snatched it up, then rummaged in the glove compartment until she found a pack of tissues. She twisted one into a tight roll and lit the end. Smoke began to curl out through the narrow opening of the window.

The young man, still preening in the mirror, wrinkled his nose. He finally noticed the wisp of smoke and turned his head.

He frowned, confused, and walked around the car, muttering, "Who smokes in a car with the windows rolled up?"

But something wasn't right. He touched the hood; it was cold. The engine wasn't running. He circled back to Latisha's side and tapped on the glass with two fingers.

She immediately responded, pounding back.

The man jumped. "Is someone in there?"

Latisha opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She could only hammer on the window again. The smoke was getting thicker now, filling the car and making her choke.

The man leaned closer, listening. It was definitely someone knocking from the inside. He glanced at the car's emblem and hesitated, not daring to smash the window of such an expensive vehicle.

“Hey, hang on!” he shouted at the window. “I'll go find out whose car this is."

He turned and ran into the hotel lobby. Standing at the entrance, he yelled at the top

of his lungs, "Whose Maybach is it outside, license plate five eights? You've got someone locked in your car! Someone go check it out!"

The lobby fell silent as all eyes turned to him.

A murmur went through the crowd. "Whose car is it?"

"Mine's a Maybach, but my plate's not that impressive."

"I don't know. Who does it belong to?"

"Could it be... his?"

They all suspected it was Clifford's, but he was upstairs in the VIP lounge. No one dared to go and interrupt him.

Someone recognized the young man. "Mortimer, it might be Mr. Lambert's. He's upstairs with your father. Why don't you go ask?"

The young man was Mortimer Farley, the host's son. His presence tonight was unexpected, but he was a familiar face.

Mortimer hadn't thought about the politics of the situation; someone was in trouble.

He bolted for the stairs, pushed

open the door to the VIP room, and yelled, "Who's Mr. Lambert? Is the

Maybach with five eights on the plate yours? You've got a person

locked in your car '

The conversation in the room came to a dead stop. Clifford slowly turned his head to look at him.

Yesenia's face went pale. She instinctively tightened her grip on Clifford's sleeve.

A person in his car? He couldn't have brought Latisha, could he? If he had, and that door was opened in front of all these people, how would she explain her own position?

"Mortimer! Stop causing trouble! Why would there be someone in Mr. Lambert's

car? Get out of here!" Lennon Farley hissed at his son.

"But there really is someone!” Mortimer insisted. “I heard them knocking on the window! If you don't believe me, go look for yourselves!"

Seeing Clifford start to rise, Yesenia

dug her nails into his arm, using all her strength to hold him down. She forced a bright, dismissive smile. "It's just our golden retriever ever We must have forgotten to bring him in. Don't worry, Mr. Farley, it's nothing."

She turned her wide, pleading eyes to Clifford. "Right?"