"Whoosh!"
In the blink of an eye, everyone's attention converged in one direction.
Even Prince Lawrence himself, his expression darkened, with a wave of his hand, everyone gathered around, encircling the waiter in their midst.
William Cole, seeing this, gently shook his head, "It's not him."
Ruth Dawn's brows furrowed as she looked at William Cole, "What's it to you? Don't meddle without cause."
"If it's not him, why is he shaking like that?"
"William Cole, I've told you, it's none of your business. Can you please shut up?"
But William Cole spoke up, "His arm is burned from a scald, not related to a bullet, and besides, if someone's arm were hit by a bullet, it would definitely swell up in a short period of time."
"And very likely there would be a significant amount of blood loss. Look at him, he doesn't look like he's lost a lot of blood at all—his complexion is still rosy, which isn't the case when someone's been shot."
