The Billionaire's Secret Quartet

"Alright, let's crash here," Hertha mumbled, barely able to keep her eyes open at the mention of a hotel, longing for rest. Without even glancing at which hotel it was, she trudged toward the entrance. Reaching the front desk, Alaric pulled out his ID and handed it to the receptionist, "We need a room."

As the receptionist took Alaric's ID, her gaze lingered on his face, a shy, girlish smile playing on her lips, bashful yet full of longing.

Hertha, though exhausted, couldn't help but notice the receptionist's smitten demeanor. It was as if she saw pink, heart-shaped bubbles popping in the air around her, her adoration almost tangible.

Hertha knew that look all too well, having been in those shoes herself. The first time she laid eyes on Alaric, she was head over heels, caught up in a whirlwind of infatuation.

Now, seeing her past self in the eyes of another, Hertha's fatigue seemed to fade away, replaced by amusement. Smiling, she warned the receptionist, "Miss, don't let his looks deceive you. I was like you once, completely dazzled at first sight. But trust me, the more you get to know him, the more you realize he's not all that."

Her intention was clear: to caution her against falling too hard for Alaric's charm.

hurt in his gaze. Ever since dinner,

he do? His past was his

Alaric, replied innocently to Hertha, "Oh, it's

in confusion, "What

much, aren't you? Is

hurriedly clarified, "No, no, you've got it all wrong. I saw Mr. Falconer for the second time today. The first

That term struck a chord with

wide and questioning, awaited

"Just spit it out. Waynet did you see me three years