In the bedroom of the Delacruz's home.
Gavyn was reeking of alcohol. Usually, he had always made it a point to freshen up after a long day at work before getting into bed. However, that day, for some unknown reason, he collapsed onto the bed without even changing his clothes.
Seeing him like this, Alfred was worried but didn't know how to offer comfort.
Adam could only pour a glass of water before quickly retreating.
At the edge of the table, Gavyn stubbed out a layer of cigarette butts in the ashtray.
This was already the fifth cigarette.
Gavyn frowned irritably and lit another one, feeling sick. His head was buzzing, and every time he thought of Aylin's face, his heart inexplicably started to race.
Aylin's every frown and smile, every moment of annoyance and anger, became increasingly clear in his mind.
The man closed his eyes and let out a bitter laugh.
Perhaps what Waylon said about me is true...