On the other side stood two n, impeccably dressed to blend in with the occasion, their presence cold and efficient.
Between them was a small trolley, and atop it lay a large sack—the very thing they would use to transport Angel.
With swift precision, they carefully placed Angel inside, securing the sack tightly.
The next step was simple.
It was ti to take her exactly where they needed her to be.
And nothing—not even Tryson—was going to stop them.
***
Tryson’s sharp gaze flickered around the room, scanning every face, every corner, searching for any sign of Angel.
A growing unease settled in his chest, a sensation he couldn’t quite shake off. It had been several minutes since she excused herself to the restroom, and yet, he hadn’t heard from her since.
He clenched his jaw, silently berating himself for feeling so anxious, so possessive. She’s fine. It’s just a quick trip. That’s what he kept telling himself.
But the nagging voice at the back of his mind whispered otherwise. It gnawed at him, planting seeds of doubt and suspicion.
His fingers absentmindedly grazed over his lower lip as he engaged in light conversations with familiar faces, but his mind was elsewhere. No matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts aside, one na kept surfacing—Angel.
Why was he so fixated on her absence?
Perhaps it was paranoia. Or perhaps, deep down, he had a gut feeling that Arthur was up to no good.
As he wrapped up another empty conversation, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Tryson reached for it swiftly, his expression shifting the mont his eyes landed on the caller ID.
His grip tightened around the device, his knuckles turning white. It was one of his n—the one he had tasked with digging up information on Arthur.
Without hesitation, he accepted the call, pressing the phone against his ear as he muttered a brief, "Excuse ," before slipping away from the noisy party.
Just as he navigated through the crowded hall, he barely had ti to react when a sudden force collided into him.
A trolley ramd into his side, the unexpected impact making him stumble slightly. He exhaled sharply, his gaze snapping toward the n responsible.
A deep frown etched onto his face. They were clad in sleek, corporate attire, their features obscured by masks.
Sothing about them felt... off.
He wanted to reprimand them for their carelessness—for nearly knocking him over with whatever heavy sack they were transporting—but ti was not on his side.
His focus was elsewhere. Gritting his teeth, he let it slide for now and continued on his path.
"Where are you?" Tryson spoke into the phone, his voice calm but firm.
As he stepped onto the veranda, his eyes imdiately landed on a man dressed to blend into the event’s formal setting.
Unlike the masked strangers, this man had no disguise, making it easy for Tryson to recognize him.
"I hope Kelvin has the necessary information as well?" Tryson’s tone was expectant, his patience running thin.
The man gave a short nod. A tense silence followed before he finally spoke.
"Sir, according to our findings, we discovered that Arthur has been particularly... attached to a certain family."
Tryson’s brows knitted together, his expression darkening as he tried to decipher the weight of those words.
"What exactly do you an by that?"
The air between them grew heavy, tension crackling in the stillness of the night. And in that mont, Tryson knew—whatever ca next, it wouldn’t be sothing he wanted to hear.
"The Brooklyn family," the man began, his voice firm and direct. "A once-prominent retail family in the fashion industry. But two years ago, their business crumbled—so drastically that they were left with no other choice but to use their own daughter as leverage to restore their empire. In exchange for financial security, they handed her over."
Tryson’s frown deepened, his mind processing every word.
"But six months after sealing that arrangent, the head of the Brooklyn family died."
A tense silence settled between them, heavy with implication. Tryson’s fingers curled into a fist as his mind raced.
"And the daughter?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm, though a storm brewed beneath his composed exterior.
It infuriated him how far Arthur was willing to stoop just to get what he wanted.
"Sophia Brooklyn," the man revealed. "Though now, she goes by a different na—Sophia Lamar."
Tryson’s brows furrowed slightly. The na stirred sothing in his mory, but he couldn’t imdiately place where he had heard it before.
"And—" The man hesitated, as if debating whether he should be the one to reveal the next part. But then, with a steady breath, he delivered the final blow. "She’s a friend of Miss Angel, sir."
Tryson’s expression darkened instantly.
mories flashed through his mind—he had seen Angel with a woman before, their interactions easy, their bond undeniably close. And now, it was clear.
Arthur had orchestrated everything from the start.
That bastard.
He should’ve known Arthur wouldn’t stop at re business tactics.
That snake would manipulate, deceive, and trample over anyone just to get what he wanted.
And Sophia... He could only imagine the horrors she must have endured.
But Arthur? That selfish bastard didn’t care about anyone’s emotions, not when he had his sights set on sothing he wanted badly.
Tryson’s jaw clenched. "Find that woman. She may have valuable information."
But to his disbelief, the man hesitated before delivering yet another unsettling truth.
"Actually, sir," he said cautiously, "we considered that possibility... but she’s nowhere to be found. Not at her house. Nowhere."
Tryson’s gaze narrowed, his mind rapidly piecing things together.
A sharp breath left his lips.
Did Arthur anticipate this? Did he know I’d start digging into him?
"What if he has her?" Tryson murmured, more to himself than to the man before him. His voice was low, dangerous. "What if he took her hostage to make sure I don’t get too close?"
The thought sent a wave of fury through him. If Arthur thought he could pull this off without consequences, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.
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