Hearing the crowd’s discussion, the assistant jumped in fright, hurriedly dragging the suitcase back as she rushed into the room.

"Miss Spencer... It’s... it’s bad! The ground floor is swarming with journalists!"

"What?"

Irene Spencer, who was organizing her jewelry, felt her fingers tremble. A gemstone necklace clattered to the floor. Paying no heed to the fallen necklace, she quickly ran to the balcony and looked downstairs.

Indeed, a dense crowd was gathered below.

Kris Cooper, he’s moved so fast?!

Irene Spencer’s fingers were trembling.

"Hurry, pack up! We’re leaving immediately!"

Turning to the dressing table, she snatched the jewelry box and dumped its contents into a small case. She paid no mind to the few pieces that had scattered on the floor and quickly fastened the case.

"Quickly, you two, come downstairs with me. No..." She took a deep breath, her hand on her forehead. "You... you go down first and get in the car. We’ll come down after. Once we’re in, start the car immediately!"

"Miss Spencer!" The assistant looked helpless. "They’ve surrounded our car; there’s no way to drive off!"

"Damn it!" Irene gritted her teeth. "Then you go down, find a taxi outside, have him turn the car around so it’s ready, and wait downstairs. Call us when you’re set, and we’ll come down!"

"Okay."

The assistant turned and hurried towards the door.

"Idiot!" Irene Spencer grabbed her arm and handed her a pair of sunglasses. "Put these on. If they recognize you, do you think you’ll be able to get away?"

The assistant took the sunglasses and hurried out, flustered.

Irene quickly picked up the jewelry that had fallen on the floor, stuffing it into the small case along with the documents, cash, and identification cards she had gathered.

"Forget the rest of the stuff! You, find me a hat and sunglasses..."

With that, she rushed into the walk-in closet, quickly pulled out a tracksuit, and changed. She put on sunglasses, a mask, and pulled a hat low over her head.

"Miss Spencer?" Her other assistant frowned, looking at her with puzzlement. "It’s so hot out. Dressed like that, won’t you be too conspicuous?"

"Then what do you suggest?" Irene Spencer ripped off her mask. "And if I just strut out there undisguised, you think they *won’t* recognize me?"

The assistant was speechless. Just then, Irene Spencer’s phone rang.

It was the first assistant, calling from downstairs to inform her that the taxi was ready. Irene walked to the balcony and looked down. Sure enough, a taxi was parked not far from the building entrance. Her assistant was just getting out of the car and looking up toward their floor.

"We’re coming down right away!"

Irene Spencer put away her phone, clutching her handbag in one hand and the small case in the other, while her remaining assistant hurried behind her, dragging a large suitcase.

The two of them took the elevator upstairs, the assistant’s face pale with panic. Irene Spencer sternly commanded, "When we get out, help me block the journalists. Don’t let them stop me, understand?"

The assistant nodded nervously.

A moment later, the elevator doors opened. Irene Spencer tugged her hat lower, kept her head down, and walked toward the steps. The assistant followed her out.

As the two of them walked up the steps, the journalists immediately noticed her, their suspicious gazes fixed on her. It was already summer, yet her face was so thoroughly covered; something was clearly amiss.

A sharp-eyed journalist recognized her assistant and immediately rushed forward.

"Miss Spencer!"

The moment they heard "Miss Spencer," the crowd surged, engulfing them. Cameras, voice recorders, microphones... everything was instantly pointed at Irene Spencer.