On the bed, the sheets were wrinkled and half-hanging off the side. The pillows and quilt were bunched up and tossed into a corner.
Right in the center, a completely naked man lay sprawled out in a big 'X' shape, snoring loudly with his mouth wide open, sound asleep.
There was a dried bloodstain on his temple.
On the floor beside the bed, a beautiful woman was hastily pulling on her clothes with a flustered expression.
Although Brody's scolding wasn't exactly quiet, it still failed to wake the sleeping man.
The woman clutched the clothing she hadn't finished putting on against her chest, looking at the newcomers in panic. "I..."
"Who exactly are you people?! This presidential suite isn't your room-how did you end up here...?!"
He didn't finish the sentence, but everyone present understood the implication.
The scene on the bed made everything painfully clear.
Just moments ago, these two had clearly engaged in some very intense 'action' right there.
At first, the woman lowered her head and bit her lip, refusing to say anything.
The security guards went over to shake the man in bed, trying to wake him up for questioning.
But he was completely out cold, no matter how hard they tried to rouse him.
If not for his thunderous snoring, one might have thought he was dead.
With no other choice, Brody half-seriously, half-threateningly said to the woman, "If you're still not going to say anything, I'll have to call the police. The police have their own methods! If you suffer for it later, don't say I didn't warn you!"
At the mention of calling the police, the woman visibly flinched.
A moment later, she hesitated, then muttered, "I... I was raped! It was him!" She pointed to the man snoring like a pig on the bed, her eyes full of hatred. "He dragged me here! He was too strong-I couldn't fight back... and so... he..."
"Oh?" Brody blinked, growing more and more suspicious. "This is the presidential suite. You're not a guest here, nor are you a hotel staff member. Then how did you end up on the 36th floor?"
That one question stumped the woman.
Her expression darkened, and after stammering for a while, she still couldn't give a clear answer.
Leaning against the wall just outside the bedroom, Christan wasn't inside the room, but he heard everything being said.
Brody's questions were the same ones in his own mind.
Suddenly, he remembered Serena had said this was all part of a planned conspiracy.
He narrowed his eyes and then walked over to the main door of the room.
Looking up, just as he suspected, the surveillance camera directly facing the door had been restored to normal.
The black object Serena had mentioned, the one that was blocking the lens earlier, had disappeared without a trace.
Judging by the drunk man's state-barely able to walk-it clearly wasn't him who removed it.
So then...
He glanced back toward the bedroom, his expression darkening as a flicker of doubt passed through his eyes...
Inside the room, no matter how many questions Brody asked, the woman refused to say another word.
More than ten minutes passed, and they only managed to get one piece of information: she claimed she had been raped!
As for how she got onto the 36th floor and how she encountered the drunken man, she refused to say anything.
Brody was scratching his head in frustration.
If they really reported this to the police and made a big scene, it would reflect poorly on the hotel!
They had just opened, and now there was already a scandal involving sexual assault. As head of the security department, he would definitely be held responsible.
While he was still hesitating, Christan's voice came from outside the door. "Captain White, may I suggest letting the young lady get dressed first, and then I'll ask her a few questions-what do you think?"
With no better idea, Brody agreed, half hoping it might work. "Alright! Sorry to trouble you then!"
He left the bedroom with the two security guards. Before going, he urged the woman, "Get dressed quickly and come to the living room!"
A few minutes later, in the living room, Christan and the woman sat on opposite sides of the sofa.
He gently pushed a freshly poured glass of water toward her. "Have a drink-calm your nerves."
The woman glanced at the water but didn't move.
Christan wasn't in a hurry. He calmly asked, "Still not planning to say anything?"
"Don't waste your time. I'm not saying a word!"
"Oh?" He raised his brows and feigned confusion. "But you're the victim. You really want to let the person who hurt you get away with it?"
The woman lowered her head and went silent.
Christan continued, "That drunk man is huge-clearly very strong. You must've suffered a lot at his hands, didn't you?"
Instinctively, the woman reached up and touched her arm.
Christan subtly glanced and noticed a faint bruise forming on her wrist.
"You look quite young-what, early twenties at most? It should be the best time of your life, falling in love and enjoying yourself. I hope this won't leave a lasting scar on your heart."
His words brought the painful memory rushing back to her again.
She was silent for a moment, then suddenly broke down-clutching her head and screaming like a madwoman.
Christan didn't stop her. He let her vent.
After all, the presidential suite was soundproof. No one else would hear her no matter how loud she screamed.
Several minutes later, her voice hoarse from shouting, she finally calmed down.
Christan once again nudged the glass of water toward her. "Drink some-soothe your throat."
This time, she didn't refuse. She picked up the glass and drank deeply.
Then, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she said, "I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
"I'm all ears." Leaning back, Christan prepared to listen. "Start by telling me who you are."
***