Arman was standing near the end of the corridor, engaged in conversation with several foreign visitors.
They were dressed impeccably.
Arman spoke to them in fluent Italian, his posture relaxed as though they were old acquaintances.
Something about the sight made Ryley squint his eyes.
Not because foreigners visiting Arman was unusual.
But because the men carried themselves differently.
Quiet confidence. Old money. The kind of presence that reminded him less of businessmen and more of influential families who had spent generations accumulating power.
Before he could observe them any longer, Jade stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"Sir, Miss Starla would like to meet you in her office in an hour. Would that be possible?"
Ryley's attention shifted.
"In an hour?" he repeated.
"Yes, Sir."
"Fine. I'll stop by later."
Yet as he turned away, his gaze drifted back toward Arman one last time.
