Without wasting even a fraction of a second, Arthur snapped his head toward Tryson, his body following suit in one swift motion.
His expression remained composed, but his eyes glead with an edge of intrigue as he inquired, "And what might that be?"
His voice was laced with feigned innocence, a subtle smirk threatening to pull at the corners of his lips.
Tryson, however, was in no mood for Arthur’s gas.
His jaw clenched tightly, his fists curling at his sides as he seethed, "You know exactly what I’m talking about—" His words ca out in a low growl, dripping with frustration.
Arthur raised a single eyebrow, his face painted with an exaggerated look of confusion.
He knew, of course, exactly what Tryson was referring to, but he had no intention of admitting it.
Deep down, he was certain that Tryson had uncovered sothing—so truth about him that had been ticulously hidden until now.
"About Sophia," Tryson spat, his voice filled with disdain. "Arthur, you’re absolutely insane!"
His irritation only grew as he watched Arthur feign innocence, as if he were nothing more than a saint with a spotless conscience.
A chuckle suddenly escaped Arthur’s lips—low, deep, and unsettling.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his hands slipping into his pockets as his eyes darkened.
Lifting his chin slightly, he locked his gaze onto Tryson’s, his amusent barely masking sothing far more dangerous lurking beneath the surface.
"Have you ever heard the saying ’Curiosity kills the cat’?" Arthur asked, his voice dripping with cold amusent.
His teeth clenched subtly, his jaw tightening as he delivered the words like a dagger to Tryson’s ears.
Tryson didn’t flinch.
Instead, he scoffed and fired back, "Well, you must be the craziest man alive to let go of a woman like her while chasing after another."
Arthur’s response was another chuckle, this ti tinged with disbelief. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he shook his head slightly, as though he found Tryson’s words utterly ridiculous.
"Really? You’re calling crazy?" he repeated, his tone carrying both amusent and irritation.
He paused for a mont, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "I’m not the one who called off an engagent just to run after another woman, now am I?"
His voice turned sharp, his eyes piercing with sothing unforgiving.
Tryson let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head as he t Arthur’s gaze with equal intensity.
"Oh, really? Is that what gave you the audacity to kill her father? What did that poor woman ever do to you—"
Before Tryson could finish, Arthur raised a single hand in the air, signaling him to stop. His expression darkened further, and when he finally spoke, his words were eerily calm.
"You should know," Arthur said, his voice a dangerous whisper, "that it is highly intrusive of you to put your mouth where it does not belong." He lifted a finger and pressed it firmly against Tryson’s chest, his cold stare unwavering. "My business... is my business," he added, his words slow and deliberate, emphasizing the boundary that Tryson had so boldly crossed.
"So I don’t expect any of it to concern you," Arthur finished before turning on his heel and walking away, his retreating figure exuding an air of dominance that only made Tryson’s blood boil.
Tryson remained rooted to the spot, his teeth grinding together in silent fury.
His fingers twitched at his sides as he watched Arthur disappear into the crowd. One day—so day—he would make sure Arthur paid for everything.
He vowed it. But for now, he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to regain composure.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his mask, slipping it back over his face as he turned toward the event hall.
The grand auditorium was alive with movent and chatter, the ongoing presentations filling the air with an air of sophistication. But despite the elegant surroundings, a nagging feeling crept into Tryson’s chest—one that refused to be ignored.
Sothing was off.
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the sea of faces, searching—until realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. It had been far too long since he had last seen Angel.
And that, more than anything, sent a chill down his spine.
Tryson had been worried about Angel before, but he had convinced himself she would return soon.
He had assud she had only stepped away to use the restroom, yet now, nearly an hour had passed, and there was still no sign of her.
A nagging sense of unease tightened around his chest like a vice.
Slowly, he turned his head toward the table where he had been seated.
Reaching for Angel’s purse, he pulled it open just enough to confirm what he feared—her phone was still inside. That ant she had left without taking anything with her. She had gone alone.
His grip on the purse tightened for a split second before he exhaled sharply, his mind racing with possibilities. Sothing wasn’t right.
Lifting his gaze, his eyes landed on Arthur, who was engaged in a conversation across the room, his expression concealed beneath his mask.
Arthur appeared relaxed—too relaxed. A low chuckle escaped his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass, his fingers elegantly entwined around the stem before he took a slow, deliberate sip.
Then, as if sensing the weight of Tryson’s stare, Arthur casually turned his head.
Their eyes t.
But instead of reacting with intimidation or even feigned surprise, Arthur did sothing far more unsettling—he smiled.
It was not a warm smile. It was not a friendly one. It was the kind of smile that sent chills down the spine, a smile that carried amusent, arrogance, and sothing far more sinister lurking beneath.
His eyes locked onto Tryson’s, never wavering, and in one smooth motion, he raised his wine glass in a silent, taunting toast. The excitent glimring in his gaze was unmistakable.
Tryson felt it then—that deep, gut-wrenching certainty. Arthur had done sothing to Angel.
The first instinct that surged through him was to storm across the room, grab Arthur by the collar, and beat the truth out of him.
His fingers twitched at his sides, his body tensing, every fiber of his being screaming at him to act.
But he couldn’t.
Not now.
The fallout would be catastrophic, the dia would swarm like vultures, and Arthur, as always, would twist the narrative in his favor.
No—Tryson needed to be smart about this.
Taking a slow breath, he forced his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With precise movents, he tapped out a ssage to one of his n.
"Have you seen her?"
The wait felt excruciating. Each passing second stretched endlessly as he clenched his jaw, his heart hamring against his ribs. Finally, his phone vibrated with a response.
"No, sir. She hasn’t been anywhere else."
Tryson’s grip on his phone tightened. His jaw locked. His gaze darkened as a dangerous storm brewed within him.
Arthur had crossed a line.
And Tryson was going to make him pay for it.
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