Crossley Gibson murmured softly; she was not in the habit of inquiring about guests, so she truly didn't know President Owen's full name, and she was being honest.
"President Owen..." As she spoke, the man's face grew darker and more tense, almost livid, with a completely hoarse voice.
Suddenly, he released her and quickly walked out of the neighborhood. By the time he reached the gates, the sports car had already left, and he stood at the entrance for a long while without moving.
"Faris, what's wrong?" Crossley chased after him and looked at him with increasing doubt. "Is there a problem?"
She scrutinized his face, cold, gloomy, tense; she'd never seen him with such an expression, even carrying fear in his eyes.
Fear? Crossley frowned, making sure she wasn't mistaken, and her heart sank. She involuntarily grabbed his arm.
"Faris, what's going on?" She asked again, her small face turning dim.
