He held the microphone in his hand, singing poorly-tuned, tacky songs.
Each man paired with a woman, embracing and drinking in the intoxication of wealth and pleasure.
George River lay sprawling on the sofa, his black hair disheveled, holding a glass of wine in his hand. He took occasional sips, everything before him clouded as if shrouded in a layer of fog.
But even so, it was impossible to conceal his good looks, not to ntion he was the President of the River Clan, an object of envy and desire.
A good number of won could hardly suppress their restless hearts, although those who had brazenly approached him earlier were kicked away without even the chance to get close before being dragged out.
No one dared to act rashly anymore.
However, a newcor, unaware of what had transpired previously, drew close, relying on her youth and pretty face.
She purposefully made her voice sweet and approached the man, "Mr. River, will you have a drink with ?"
Not many noticed this in the corner, just a few won casting anticipatory glances, waiting to see a spectacle.
Hearing the voice in his ear, George felt a wave of irritation. He opened his eyes, ready to have her thrown out, but found himself looking into vaguely familiar eyes and swallowed his words.
The woman, thinking she had caught his eye with her looks, imdiately flashed her best smile and leaned in.
But before she could touch him, she was pushed to the ground.
"Get lost!"
The man’s voice, seething with rage, echoed, and she was so shaken that tears stread down her face. But, unwilling to give up, she clung to his leg, her voice dripping with seduction, "Mr. River..."
George straightened up; for a mont, he had mistaken her for soone else.
Ever since that instance when he called out the wrong na, he found himself on the brink of insanity. Regardless of who was beside him, the image that floated before his eyes was always Hannah’s radiant face.
Her immaculate skin, flirtatious eyes, drove n to distraction.
The woman before him bore a passing resemblance to Hannah, enough to throw him off. But her affected coyness and unabashedly greedy eyes only served to repulse him.
He held her seemingly pitiful face in hand; his lips curled with mockery, "What a waste of these eyes, but still, you’re just a cheap imitation."
The woman was taken aback, not sure whether he was attracted or repelled.
However, George’s face and his air of refined elegance made her go weak in the knees. She wanted nothing more than to ld into him, her hands ceaselessly sliding up and down his arm, "Mr. River, let serve you."
Her feigned coquettishness made George lose his concentration for a mont, but he quickly snapped back to reality. He tossed her aside like garbage, even wiping his hands with a tissue, his tone filled with disgust, "None of you can compare to her."
He gestured for soone to drag the woman out.
The woman’s shrieks echoed throughout the room, but he ignored them, continuing to pour alcohol down his throat as if it were the only way to catch his breath.
No one dared to disturb George; everyone else was busy with their own entertainnt.
Ever since the news of Arnold Simmons’ accident broke out, George had beco the most influential figure at these parties.
After several rounds of drinks, the rich second-generation guys were getting drunk and starting to beco more frivolous with their words.
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