Wyatt Morgan's face suddenly darkened, his eyes narrowed, his expression turning cold and stern.
He turned to the waiter blocking the way, his tone indisputable: "My friend has an emergency. Let them through."
The waiter glanced at Vivian Sinclair's panicked face, then at Wyatt Morgan's unwavering demeanor, hesitated for a moment, but ultimately dared not ask further questions. He silently raised his hand, making a "please proceed" gesture.
Vivian didn't stop, practically bursting into the hall as if she were breaking through the air.
Her eyes swept swiftly across the surroundings like searchlights, passing through the fragrant silhouettes and the mingling of glasses, finally locking firmly in the direction of the elevator.
She took off running, the sound of her high heels striking the marble floor urgent like drumbeats.
Wyatt Morgan quickly caught up, questioning as he walked rapidly: "What on earth is going on? Explain it! What's wrong with Tristan? Why is he here?"
