Chapter 7

Euthird angrily whispered at his fifty-two-year-old right-hand man, Mr. Jameson Drake.

"Where is that bastard? I haven't heard from him for months. And what? He dares come here without a word?"

He gritted his teeth at the old man who was afraid to meet his gaze.

Euthird's black and wine-red mask only covered a portion of his face, emphasizing his squared jaw and luscious lips. His black Victorian suit was also lined with burgundy.

He was like a blood-sucker from the Renaissance period, or more like the king of goths.

Unlike him, Jameson wasn't wearing a mask, and instead of Victorian attire, he was wearing a modern suit. Jameson had been working under him for about four years. And he still couldn't do his job properly.

"I'm so sorry, sir. We are looking for him at the moment."

"Do it before every person here notices him," he hissed back at his employee who could only nod at him in submission.

Before Jameson could get out of his sight, a man in the same suit as Jameson approached them a