She pulled out her phone from her pocket and sent a message. [Met him, but he’s wary of me. Can’t get close.]
The man read the message, with a devilish smirk playing on his lips. “If it were that easy to fool him, he wouldn’t be Ian.”
The assistant nodded with a smile. “I reckon Ian will dig into Zora’s background next. He won’t trust her that easily.”
The man scoffed, “I’ll make him believe.”
Ian stepped out of the café and immediately instructed Dawson, “Look up this girl named Zora.”
“Did you notice anything unusual when you met her?” Dawson inquired.
Ian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s precisely because I didn’t, which makes it strange. It’s like she knew the answers to all the questions beforehand, and she felt unfamiliar, not like No. 11.”
Dawson started the car, glancing at Ian in the rearview mirror. “If she’s an impostor, then where is the real No. 11, and how could they know your secrets?”
The thought made Ian worry. He hoped No. 11 wouldn’t get involved in this.
...
Clara was awakened by a nightmare in the early morning. She dreamed of her mother lying in a pool of blood, reaching out to her. Tears glistened in her mother’s beautiful big eyes.
The image echoed in her mind, accompanied by her mother’s pained moans. Clara sat up abruptly in bed, gasping for air, a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.
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