The Unveiling of Secret Queen-Chapter 1235: Face Slap, Who is Hendrik Zachmann

At this moment.

The entire top floor of the Four Seasons Hotel in Beijing was rented by someone, even the hotel manager was unaware of the mysterious guest’s name who rented their whole floor.

Inside a suite on the 48th floor.

A man in a wheelchair sat quietly in front of the living room’s floor-to-ceiling window.

Underfoot was a panoramic view of the city.

Countless vehicles streamed like woven threads on the city’s overpasses, resembling tiny ants hustling below at high speed.

"Mr. Lordon, there’s someone named Hendrik Zachmann downstairs who wants to see you. He claims to be from Maybelissa, do you want to meet him?"

The man in the wheelchair had a thin blanket draped over his legs, with a perfectly straight contour of shoulders and chest, the light shone directly on him, revealing no flaws—except for being a cripple!

"Hendrik Zachmann?"

Khendy Lordon’s White Jade-like hand was still holding the phone, the screen paused on a chat conversation, his finger tapping casually on the phone’s case.

"Who is it?"

Combined into a flippant question: Who is Hendrik Zachmann?

His tone was not contemptuous, just calmly straightforward, yet it felt like the sharpest face slap; if Hendrik Zachmann were standing in front of him at this moment, he would surely hang his head in shame.

The bodyguard dared not raise his head, speaking softly, "He said he’s from Maybelissa."

"Ha." A mocking laugh escaped the man’s throat, as if he were amused, his deep, dark eyes resembling an unfathomable lake: "Just because he’s from Maybelissa, I have to see him?"

His tone was laced with sarcasm, as if merely joking: "Do you know how many people there are in all of Maybelissa? If I were to see every single one, when would I ever rest?"

The bodyguard, nearly 1.9 meters tall and resembling a moving iron tower, turned pale, his back drenched in cold sweat.

Too scared to lift his head, he immediately responded nervously, "Yes, Mr. Lordon, I will go refuse him right away."

Khendy Lordon did not even lift an eyelid, seeming too indifferent to bother with him.

The bodyguard tiptoed out, gently closing the door behind him.

Silence returned to the suite, Khendy Lordon raised his wrist, picked up the glass placed nearby, which was filled with vodka.

He brought the rim of the glass to his lips and took a sip, downing half the drink in one go, then placed the glass back.

Seeming to speak inadvertently to someone in the living room: "Nathalie replied to me."

"What did Qiao say?"

There was actually another person in the living room, a woman, not very old, quite young, with facial features that were not outstanding, the type that would go unnoticed in a crowd.

She wore a black tank top, revealing well-toned shoulders, and below were camouflage pants, tucked into knee-high leather boots.

Her looks were unremarkable, but her figure was extraordinarily striking.

All around, she exuded a maturity and poise that young girls did not have.

Khendy Lordon laughed slightly, his skin very pale from years without sunlight, with the light from above reflecting off him, seemingly able to see the purple veins beneath his pallid skin, the myriad stars outside the floor-to-ceiling window vying to fall into his eyes, yet he covered his thin lips as if joking: "Guess."

"..." Valencia Jett furrowed her brows.

Khendy Lordon laughed again, casually adjusting the blanket over his legs, his voice both light and sharp: "She said the reason she’s competing is because she wants to be number one in the world."

After speaking, he clicked his tongue.

"She wants to be number one in the world, so she goes off to a boring competition. That’s the funniest joke I’ve heard lately!"