Wh-what?
'His room? But… isn't this supposed to be Joyce Monroe's room?'
'Have Ina Sutton and Julian Griffin lost their minds? Doing this kind of thing in someone else's room? Even if they were looking for a thrill, this is just not the way.'
Just then, a sharp-eyed reporter recognized Silas Thorne and quickly put away his camera. "M-Mr. Thorne!"
Ina Sutton had seen him once before at Joyce Monroe's birthday banquet.
The moment their eyes met, a violent tremor ran through her. It was as if an invisible pair of hands were choking her, making every breath a struggle. Her heart felt like it was being crushed and squeezed by a massive rock, the panic nearly suffocating her.
Julian Griffin was already prostrate on the floor.
"Mr. Thorne, this has nothing to do with me! It was Ina Sutton! She said this was Joyce Monroe's room and that it would be thrilling to do... *that*... in here. She insisted on dragging me here for this sordid affair."
