In a private suite of a hotel, Dorian Wilson arrived under the "escort" of the black-market mine's guards. His buzz cut gave him a hardened look, but he had nothing in the way of charm or handsomeness—just a thoroughly average appearance. Still, his eyes radiated confidence.
Despite working day and night in the mines with no days off, his belief never wavered—one day, once he broke free, he would become an international superstar.
"Have a seat," Veil gestured casually, a polite smile on his face.
All things considered, Dorian was someone he had known in a past life. Some civility on the surface was still necessary.
Dorian sat without hesitation, making no attempt to flatter Veil. In fact, a trace of arrogance played between his brows, as if he didn't see Veil as someone worth paying attention to.
And honestly, he didn't.