"Who?"
The tender voice carried a hint of nasal tones, probably tinged with impatience.
There was silence on the other end before the voice spoke again, "It’s ."
The voice, feigning calmness, still held a touch of nervousness.
That’s when Hannah finally opened her eyes, glanced at the clock on the wall, and feigned ignorance, "I... Who might that be?"
A trace of a smile played on her lips, her voice teasing and soft.
The cold night wind, carrying a bit of moisture, swept into the car, causing the man to catch his breath before saying quietly, "George River."
He had never realized before, that saying his own na could be such a slow process.
Hannah crawled out of bed, patted the startled Ginny, and then drew back the curtains to look down.
In the night, the sleek black luxury car parked sideways indeed stood out, but fortunately, the road was deserted.
She smiled, "Mr. River, have you switched careers to beco a paparazzo?"
George River quietly watched the cigarette in his hand burn down to the filter, as if having made a decision, he pushed the door open and got out of the car.
He had co here today, just wanting an answer.
George River looked up at the location of Hannah’s room, his voice hoarse, "Hannah Winter, do you rember what you used to say?"
Hannah’s expression was indifferent, her eyes tired. From this angle, she could only see a small silhouette, "I’ve said too much, I don’t rember."
"Alright, then let remind you," George River gripped his phone tighter, murmuring as if reminiscing, "You said that if there ca a day when I have nothing, you would not abandon ..."
He picked up the past he had discarded, carefully dusted it off, and recited it, line by line, to the person on the other end of the phone.
It was full of sadness and nostalgia; he hoped it would awaken her last remaining feelings for him.
Unfortunately, such sentints failed to touch Hannah.
"George River, have you gone bankrupt?"
George River paused, then said quietly, "No."
Hannah sighed, almost as if she regretted his answer, "Then why are you telling all this?"
"I just..." As he saw the curtains drawn shut above, the words he wanted to say got stuck in his throat.
Just wanted to see you.
The call was hung up.
Ginny, not knowing when she had fully awakened, sat on the nightstand looking blankly at Hannah.
"Mistress, was that George River?"
Hannah nodded her head; the interrupted sleep had mostly dissipated now.
Ginny seed intrigued, "Why would George River co looking for you so late?"
Hannah curled up on the couch, lazily swiping on her phone, "Perhaps because he couldn’t sleep from missing , he was eager to see and end his tornt of longing."
"The mistress is talking nonsense again."
Ginny couldn’t help laughing, scratching her ear and about to say sothing when the doorbell suddenly rang.
At this late hour, it couldn’t be hotel staff.
Ginny’s whiskers bristled, recalling the thriller she had been reading, a mix of wariness and fear on her face, "Mistress, it’s not a night assassin, is it?"
The dog was utterly cowardly.
Hannah turned off her phone and stood up, "No night assassin, but there is a lovelorn scoundrel."
Seeing the person standing outside the door, she showed no sign of surprise.
George River at that mont looked more haggard than usual, the slightly disheveled black hair and wrinkles on his trench coat contrasting with his usually cold deanor.
The air also bore a faint scent of alcohol.
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