Jameson cracked his knuckles as he instructed through clenched teeth, "Head back to the Millennium!"

A storm cloud hung over Jameson's face as he entered the Millennium. Anyone could see his simmering rage.

"Carl," Jameson barked, his voice laced with ice, "get Amber down here. Now."

Carl scurried to obey, his heart hammering in his chest.

After more than ten minutes, Amber appeared in the basement, where the incompetent and traitorous were often dealt with.

A metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air as the door creaked open.

"Mr. Schmidt." Amber bowed deeply. Despite her outward composure, her heart was beating wildly.

a maroon couch in the dim, oppressive light, swirling a glass of crimson wine.

was apprehended by the police at the party organized by

her fear as she replied softly, "Yes, it's been all over

amount of evidence in record

glass, his eyes locking onto Amber's. "Tell me, Amber," he said slowly, a predatory glint

a second skin, slick with a cold sweat. Her voice, when she spoke, was

and they hold significant influence. They know how to sway people. It wouldn't be

uncertain if they've managed to win over someone under

his sentence, something flashed before

his hand and hurled the wine glass at her. She staggered backward, narrowly avoiding a direct hit to her head. However, the glass shattered at the tip of her high heels, splashing her

mask of composure onto her face. "What's wrong, Mr. Schmidt? Who has upset you?" she asked, her voice devoid of

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