Orson gave a nod, signaling, "Please, after you."
Bridget stepped out of the car and made her way toward the Paradise Pavilion.
...
Sylvia exited the private dining room, walking down the corridor where a cool breeze made her head spin even more, deepening her intoxication. She leaned on a pillar, staggering toward the exit as best as she could.
As she walked, she vaguely remembered needing to turn, so she did, only to miss a step and, out of instinct, tumble forward. With a splash, she suddenly found herself soaked, the cold water somewhat sobering her up.
Only then did Sylvia realize she had fallen into a decorative pond, the water reaching just to her chest, the embarrassment almost killing her.
She made her way to the edge, stepping carefully up the stairs. And there, by the pond, was the office with its full-height windows.
Rupert hadn't lied to Bridget; the Paradise Pavilion's manager had indeed been looking for him.
"Rupert, Ms. Simpson has racked up over a million in charges recently, and today she opened six bottles of our finest wine under your account. Will this be added to your tab, or..."
As the manager appointed by Rupert, it was crucial to keep the accounts in order. Though the money was a trifle to Rupert, he was quite dissatisfied with Bridget's recent actions.
"Send the bill to Simpson Group."
"Right away..."
Before the manager could finish, a splash from outside interrupted them.
"What was that? This is a restricted area. Who's out there?"
As they spoke, a drenched figure emerged gracefully from the pond's edge, illuminated by the moonlight, leaving the manager spellbound.
"Turn around and close your eyes!"
At Rupert's command, the manager didn't hesitate to comply, swiftly turning and shutting his eyes as a gust of wind seemed to pass by, leaving the office eerily silent.
Meanwhile, Sylvia shivered from the cold, wrapping her arms around herself as she spotted the lobby sign. She bit her lip, deciding to run out of Paradise Pavilion.
Just as she took a step, a familiar chilly voice stopped her.
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