White mists filled the night sky, releasing the anger and frustration that strangled his conscience.
It had been two hours since their talk ended, and he sent the old man back to clean the mess on the hotel after one violent kick that destroyed the glass table that separated them.
Three empty packs already, though Adrian had warned him not to touch anything that could destroy his delicate lungs in the long run.
But he couldn't help it.
He couldn't help thinking about Scott's answer.
Why would the man, who once banished him to the end of the world, care about what he did and where he was at that time?
Shouldn't he be glad that the only person he saw as a threat failed to be the second most powerful man in Falcon Group?
Did he really need to send those hitmen after him and kill him like a coward?
Clyde sat on the arm chair slicking his dark hair, trying to convince himself that tonight never existed.
Yeah, tonight never existed.
