The more Marilyn thought about her son's drunken state, the more furious she became. Whatiswrongwith Virginia? Howcouldshelet Lance drinksomuch? Alcoholwasharmfultothebody, and he had clearlyconsumedfartoomuch.Wasshedeliberatelytryingtoharmhim? "He was drinking with a woman—so why didn't that woman bring him home herself? Why did she send you instead?" "I-I ... I don't know." "Where did they drink?" "At our restaurant," Clayton muttered, lowering his head as he provided the name and address. It was a restaurant Marilyn had never heard of. "A five-star restaurant? Or Michelin-rated?" Clayton wiped the sweat from his forehead. "We're just a small restaurant ... no stars." "A small restaurant?" Lance never dined at unremarkable little eateries like that. Clearly, Virginia was the one who frequented such places. So she must have been the one who invited Lance there. Otherwise, he would never have set foot in such an unrefined establishment. "I see. You may go." Marilyn sighed, feeling a headache coming on. She waved him away. Clayton, relieved beyond words, took off running without hesitation, determined not to stay a second longer. But just as he reached halfway, he was suddenly called back. "Wait! Come back here." Hearing Marilyn's voice behind him, Clayton's heart clenched. But he pretended not to hear and kept running. Didn'thearanything. Didn'thearanything. I needtogetoutofhere! Just as he reached the door, a familiar sight blocked his path. The barrel of a gun. "Mrs. Marilyn called you. Didn't you hear? What, are you deaf?"And you still tried to run?" The lead bodyguard, with a fierce and menacing face, glared at Clayton. Clayton immediately froze in place, his feet rooted to the ground. "I ... I didn't hear ... " His previous encounters with these bodyguards had already left him traumatized. Instinctively, he curled in on himself, trying to make himself smaller. "Do you hear now?" The gun pressed against his neck. "Yes, yes, I hear now!" Clayton laughed nervously, lowering his voice as if to soothe a wild animal. "I'll go right now. No need to get worked up." But even as he agreed outwardly, his mind was full of questions. Howdidtheyevenhearthat? Thesebodyguards had beenstandingallthewayoutside, yettheycaught Mrs. Marilyn'squietvoicefromthelivingroom? Are theyallequippedwithsuperhumanhearing? Can theydetecteverylittlemovementinsidetheJohnstonResidence?With this realization, Clayton looked at the Johnstons' bodyguards with newfound awe and respect. "What are you standing there for? Hurry up and go answer Mrs. Marilyn!" The bodyguard snapped impatiently. "Yes, yes! I'm going. No need to get angry." Clayton forced another grin and, though reluctant, turned back toward the living room. His steps were slow and heavy, like a prisoner walking toward his execution. "Hurry up! What, haven't you had a meal?" With that, Clayton immediately picked up his pace. As wolves chased him, he dashed back into the living room. Marilyn was seated on the sofa, flipping through a notebook. Its pages were densely filled with text, though the contents were unclear from a distance. Looking up, she noticed Clayton had come back and was slightly surprised. "You're back again?" When she had called him a moment ago, he hadn't even turned around. She had assumed he hadn't heard her.