Tryson stormed into the VVIP lounge with an air of barely contained aggression, his footsteps heavy against the polished marble floor.
The room was designed to exude luxury—plush velvet seating, a dim yet elegant glow from the chandelier above, and a panoramic floor-to-ceiling window that bathed the space in the golden hues of the setting sun.
Yet, none of that mattered to him. His mind was a storm, raging with thoughts that refused to settle.
For a brief moment, he paced in agitation, his hands clenched into fists before he finally moved toward the massive window, his eyes narrowing as they scanned the city below.
The lighter in his hand clicked rhythmically, his fingers flicking the metal wheel with an almost mechanical precision.
He wasn't just waiting. He was bracing himself.
Then—the faint yet unmistakable click of the door latch.
Tryson didn't move, but he knew exactly who had entered.
He didn't need to turn around to recognize the presence behind him.
