The hall was alive with men embracing beauties, drinking and dancing, the intimate, steamy dance moves stirring the blood of onlookers.
Bryan White picked up a glass of liquor from a passing waiter, sniffed it, recognized it as Whiskey, and then took a sip.
His green eyes never left the dance floor; his gaze prowled through the crowd like a leopard hunting for prey, lips curling into a sinister smile.
His gaze continued to prowl, like a leopard hunting for prey, lips curling into a sinister smile.
He then slowly walked over and sat down on a couch in the corner.
The dim lighting of the main party room couldn't hide Bryan White's arrival, drawing the immediate attention of many women.
The women who frequented there knew he was a regular and must be worth a fortune, while first-time visitors could tell from Bryan White's demeanor that he was either wealthy or noble.
