She stood up and walked over to the bookshelf, lightly brushing her fingers over the neatly arranged books.
"All these books are about medicine. If you weren't here, you should probably be working as a doctor in some hospital, right?"
Having struggled with illness throughout her childhood, constantly hovering near death, she had naturally gained considerable medical knowledge. On top of that, she had a forensic genius as a friend. Thanks to him, her understanding of medical matters wasn't shallow. Thus, she could tell at a glance that the books in front of her were quite advanced.
In a remote, impoverished place like this, it was impossible to acquire such high-level books just for show. Even if they tried, they wouldn't use materials incomprehensible to the average person.
Thus, the only explanation was that Flander had a medical background—and a rather competent one at that.
In any country, being a doctor is a highly respected and well-paid profession. If given a choice between becoming a doctor or diving into the underworld, any rational person would surely choose the former.
When Laila's fingers brushed the books, Flander's body stiffened for just an instant.
Although he tried not to show it, Laila, who was observing him closely, caught the subtle reaction and smiled faintly.
"You don't like people touching your books?" she teased, grinning like a fox that had just stolen a chicken.
"I heard many doctors have a touch of OCD."
Flander suppressed the urge to grab her hand and fling it away from his books, keeping a cold expression.
"Director Moran, did you come all the way here this early just to chat?"
Laila beamed at him.
"I asked a question earlier but didn't get an answer.
Since it's so nice here, maybe I should suggest to Mr. Martin that we use this place as a filming location?"
Shameless!
The thought of his room being trampled by countless people made Flander wish he could throw this woman—who had so precisely poked at his sore spot—out the window.
He knew all too well that, even though Martin valued and trusted him if Laila made that suggestion, Martin would agree immediately without even consulting him.
Compared to billions in profits, what was the value of one subordinate's room?
Gritting his teeth, Flander had no choice but to yield to Laila's threat—he simply had no power to resist.
"Yesterday, Mr. Martin mentioned the matter about the diamond to Mr. Seasonstar," he said, glancing at her hand out of the corner of his eye.
He didn't see the rumored extraordinary blue diamond.
Laila frowned, quickly realizing the gravity of the situation.
She didn't even need to think hard—Roy must have gotten caught up in guilt again.
She felt a headache coming on.
While Roy was often dependable, he sometimes got trapped in his guilt, blaming himself for all the misfortunes that had befallen her.
He seemed to forget how comfortable her life was now—and that she had even gotten her hands on an excellent script. She was probably the biggest winner here!
"What are you planning to do next?" Laila asked, barely able to suppress her rising anger.
Yes, she was angry.
Whenever Roy got trapped in his guilt, it hurt her too.
Anyone who made her suffer would never have an easy time.
Don't think that she was all alone here. If she truly had no backing, would she be living so comfortably, well-fed, and fully rested?
Flander was so shocked by her sudden tone that he visibly shuddered.
"What do you mean?"
Laila fixed him with a half-lidded, sharp gaze.
"You don't understand what I mean? Don't think I don't know—it was you who instigated Martin to have me brought here."
If Flander was merely shocked before, now he was utterly horrified, as if every protective layer on him had been stripped away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
The profound shock and subtle sense of humiliation nearly made the usually composed Flander fall off his chair.
He wanted desperately to ask how she knew—but doing so would be equivalent to admitting everything.
Could he afford to confess? Not!
No matter how much Martin trusted him now, even a hint of betrayal would probably earn him a bullet in the head.
"Stop joking. Even if I wanted to, do you think an outsider like me could influence him to do anything?" Flander said coldly.
Laila smirked.
"I wouldn't say that about others, but you are a special case."
Flander's face darkened.
"Director Moran, if you think a few words can drive a wedge between Mr. Martin and me, you're making a huge mistake! Mr. Martin—"
"You were about to say he trusts you, right?" Laila interrupted, her eyes glinting with amusement.
"With your intelligence, do you truly believe that?"
Of course, Flander didn't believe it.
Even if he knew better internally, he still had to deny it on the surface.
"Director Moran, what exactly are you trying to say?" he snapped, acting impatient.
What he didn't realize was that the more defensive he acted, the more certain Laila became that her initial speculation was correct.
"Since you want me to say it out loud, I will."
She glanced around the room with a grin.
"You asked for it—I hope there aren't any surveillance devices around."
"Hmph, you're being ridiculous," Flander sneered, but he didn't stop her.
That alone confirmed to Laila that there were no hidden microphones or cameras—and that Flander believed what they said here wouldn't reach Martin.
Thus, she laid everything out bluntly:
"With my identity, someone like Martin has no chance of touching me. Sure, he has some minor influence here, but compared to the Moran family, he's utterly insignificant.
He kidnapped me just because he made some money from my movies and thought he could force me to make more for him."
Laila chuckled dryly.
"I admire his courage—and his stupidity."
"If you weren't by his side, or if he didn't trust you so much, maybe I would think he was that foolish.
But your existence, your intelligence, your importance to him—these things make me believe there's someone else behind this.
Someone with a deeper plot."
"Your theory is interesting," Flander sneered,
"But do you think Martin would believe it if you told him?"
If not for his clenched fists, the tension in his jaw, and the flash of panic in his eyes, Laila might have believed him—at least 1%.