A rich, smooth voice sounded, interwoven through the microphone into the ears of all guests above the hall.
It was a cliché and mundane opening remark.
Maya Monroe looked toward the voice, only to see Tristan Rowe already in the hall without her noticing. He was dressed formally, with a silk-striped tie across his chest, looking both formal and handsome. He held the microphone with one hand, his gaze seemingly light but actually intensely oppressive.
The protagonist appeared, and everyone's eyes looked upward. Tristan Rowe neither descended to converse nor entertained the guests at his banquet, casually sending a few waiters over, which was undoubtedly very arrogant. Yet now he held the microphone and spoke, not a single person dared to disrespect him.
Maya Monroe felt her arm tightly held by someone, she looked up to find it was Monica Jacobs.
Monica Jacobs' lips were painted with lipstick, but her tightly pursed corners revealed her tense nerves.
