?<strong>Chapter 871:</strong>


    Driving herself in her current dizzy state was out of the question.


    She had just retrieved her phone, but before she could unlock it, a strong scent of eaglewood filled the air. Her vision darkened, and she copsed, unconscious.


    Meanwhile, upstairs at the hotel, Kristopher impatiently mmed a ck card down on the front desk, demanding,


    “Give me the presidential suite, now.”


    The receptionist hesitated, checking the system.


    “I’m sorry, sir, but we only have a standard room with a king-sized bed avable.”


    “Fine,” Kristopher muttered, massaging his temples.


    Earlier, he had visited the Herrera estate to meet Aliza and overheard a servant mention she hade to this hotel.


    Remembering that Aliza had picked him up from the club once before, he had nned a surprise for her today, but upon arriving, a wave of nausea overtook him.


    He tried calling Aliza, but her phone was off. Spotting a sign for the hotel upstairs, he decided to rest there.


    The receptionist quickly processed his check-in, handed back the ck card along with the room key, and said,


    “Room 1019 is down the hall, turn left, second tost on the right.”


    Kristopher said nothing, took the cards, and headed in the direction the receptionist had pointed.


    When he found the room, he noticed something odd—the number was missing a “1,” leaving an awkward gap between the “10” at the front and the “9” at the end.


    Kristopher didn’t bother with the shabby conditions. He opened the door and stepped inside without a second thought.


    gα?ησν????s．?оm takes you away


    In his rush, he failed to notice that the door hadn’t fully shut behind him.


    The waiter moved swiftly, catching Carrie’s unconscious body before she could slump to the floor. His eyes darted around, scanning the hallway. All clear. He let out two short coughs—a signal.


    From the men’s restroom next door, two men emerged. The same two who had been chatting with Aliza earlier in the private room.


    The waiter cast a quick nce at Carrie, a flicker of regret shing in his eyes. Such a shame. A woman this beautiful… what a waste.


    But regret was a luxury he couldn’t afford. People like him—struggling to get by, always at the mercy of bigger yers—didn’t have the privilege of feeling pity. It was just her bad luck.


    The two men lingered a little too long, their eyes roving over Carrie’s face, her body. Their anticipation was palpable. The younger one reached for her, eager, impatient—


    But the older man pped his hand away, giving him a sharp look.


    The older man pulled out a room keycard and slipped it into the waiter’s pocket.


    “Take her upstairs.”


    The younger man frowned.


    “Why…”


    The older one didn’t bother exining.


    “Shut up.”


    .


    .


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