His gaze was fixed on Tristan Lowell's humble appearance, his heart in turmoil.
Tristan Lowell, who once revolved around him, treating him as an esteemed guest.
Now, before him, he was nodding and bowing to Landon Lockwood, groveling.
But now?
Tristan Lowell didn't even want to glance at him, only lowering his head to listen to Landon Lockwood's instructions.
Isn't this a public slap in the face?
Hayden Croft felt a rush of burning anger shoot up to his head.
He felt his dignity was torn apart in public, trampled into the mud, and stomped on repeatedly.
His temples throbbed violently, his jaws clenched, and his cheek muscles bulged.
Cold sweat slid down his forehead, only to be harshly wiped away by him.
He stared intently at Landon Lockwood, his throat dry and aching.
His voice was low, repressed, with a hint of tremble.
It was as if he was urging Landon Lockwood to reconsider, yet also convincing himself to accept this absurd reality.
