"I don't know." Henry Parker shook his head decisively. "Who would be bored enough to open some box of unknown origin and look inside? It would scare you to death, I'm telling you. That person suddenly lunged forward and started spewing blood everywhere..."

For the next hour, Dylan Lane repeatedly questioned him about the complicated issues in the file, mixing up the order, and even suddenly asking unrelated questions.

It wasn't until Evelyn Allen's voice came from behind the one-way mirror: "That's enough."

He finally breathed a sigh of relief, mustering his strength to pull his wrist out of Henry Parker's grip. His wrist was covered in red marks from being squeezed. Luckily, he pulled away in time—any later and this bastard would have snapped it.

Just as he let out a long breath, Henry Parker suddenly snapped out of his stupor, staring at him blankly, not knowing what had just happened.

It was as if he'd had a nightmare—a nightmare so real, so real that he started to despise himself...

"Ugh!"

He suddenly tried to get up from the chair, but couldn't because he was handcuffed, so he bent over and vomited violently. Just thinking about how he had acted just now—like he was in heat—made him feel an indescribable nausea, and he vomited until snot and tears were streaming down his face.

"You pervert, what did you do to me! Ugh!"

He didn't even finish speaking before he started vomiting again, and as he vomited, he couldn't help but start crying.

"Oh god, I don't even have a girlfriend, how did I get bent by this damn pervert? My reputation is ruined, ruined! Damn it, I'm going to fight you, you bastard!"

"Sorry, nobody wanted this to happen."

Dylan Lane seemed long used to such scenes, and sympathetically handed him a glass of water. "The most important thing in life is to be happy. Are you hungry? I—"

"Ugh!"

Before he could finish, Henry Parker vomited again.

At that moment, behind the one-way mirror, there were also sounds of retching and nausea.

The middle-aged man's face was ashen as he clutched his aching stomach. Someone next to him handed him a stomach pill and a perfectly warmed glass of water.

It was the female driver who always silently followed behind Evelyn Allen.

"Thank you." He forced a smile, took the medicine, and after catching his breath for a while, finally calmed down a bit.

"So, how did it go?" Evelyn Allen asked. "I told you, you wouldn't get anything out of him."

"Maybe he's just pretending..."

The middle-aged man coughed dryly. "Dylan Lane's soul ability—I know it. It's a charm effect, right? It works on ordinary people, but not necessarily on Ascendants."

"Wouldn't Dylan Lane know if it worked or not? Besides, if there's any man—any man at the peak of his self-esteem and adolescent delusions—who could fake it to that extent... I don't think any method you try will get anything out of him."

Evelyn Allen gave him a deep look. "Give it up."

"I've read the file. If we're talking about that kid's criminal suspicion, I'm actually his alibi."

Dylan Lane walked in from the interrogation room, tossing the file filled with notes back onto the table, and sighed helplessly. "That kid was still at our club for an interview three minutes before the explosion at the port..."

"Interview? What could he possibly be interviewing for?"

"To be a host... Seems like he was tricked by an agency? Halfway through the interview, he realized and got scared off by the manager."

Dylan Lane shook his head, looking at the front-facing photo of Henry Parker in the file, clicking his tongue in admiration. "If you ask me, he's got potential. Good build, but his style is off. If he changed into a fitted suit and got rid of that shameless grin, he'd be the perfect abstinent type. The older ladies love those prickly little hedgehogs they can't get their hands on..."

"Enough, we didn't call you here to plan his career."

Evelyn Allen cut him off. "He's just an ordinary person who accidentally got caught up in this. Have him sign a non-disclosure agreement and let him go. Keeping him here is just a waste of time."

And so, the matter was settled.

Fifteen minutes later, Henry Parker, his spirit thoroughly battered, was stuffed into a car and sent away after signing a mountain of paperwork.

At the front gate, Dylan Lane stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the boy—who thought he was being sent to his execution—struggle desperately, and couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"By the way, what was his name again?" he asked Evelyn Allen behind him.

"Henry Parker."

"You know him?" Dylan Lane smiled mysteriously. "Is that why you helped him out? Don't underestimate a top host's intuition, Miss Allen."

Unexpectedly, Evelyn Allen's expression remained calm.

"Yeah, I guess you could say I know him."

"Are you close?"

"Not really. I'm three years older than him. We used to play together when we were little."

"Huh?" Dylan Lane turned around in surprise, never having imagined there was such a connection between them. "And after that?"

"After that?"

Evelyn Allen glanced at him. "After his family went bankrupt because my grandfather broke a contract, we never saw each other again."

"......"

Dylan Lane was stunned, not knowing what to say.

.

.

In a sealed basement, someone pushed the door open.

A restless man jumped up from his chair, his expression anxious. "Why are you so late?"