The banquet hall erupted in an uproar at Glen's outburst.

"What?! Someone killed Les Turnbull?"

"No way, he's dead? And that brat killed him?!"

"That's the son of the family head we're talking about... Who the hell let him in here?"

Frank could feel everyone's eyes on him.

He glanced coldly at Walter in turn and said calmly, "Yes, I killed him." "How dare you!" Glen bellowed, clearly unable to retrain his own wrath. That man had killed his beloved son and would strut on his own turf freely like it was nothing?!

How would he hold his head high if word got out?

head. "Then did you read the part on why I

could hear

in disappointment. "Shouldn't you be standing up to explain the facts? I remember how you

clenching his cheeks, pain swelling in

have been fine if it was just Les—he was just Glen's bastard and had a troubled reputation in the family. His death was at best inconsequential, and Walter could at least

the problem was that there were two deaths,

was Walter supposed to explain that? If anything, he had come ready to

lowlifes? So what if they are dead? No one

the banquet hall in her white gown, her long black hair flowing beneath her tiara and her devilish figure

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