However, the moment Joel Russo's figure appeared at the entrance of the banquet hall, a low, hushed commotion erupted within.
Joel had come straight here after work.
He hadn't even bothered to change out of his suit—a seemingly minor detail, but in the world of the socialite gathering, if one were to be picky, it wouldn't exactly qualify as gentlemanly decorum.
Yet, this didn't diminish the innate aura of nobility emanating from him. His strikingly handsome features seemed as if drawn by a divine artist. Beneath his prominent brow bone rested two sharp, ink-dark eyebrows, his eyes exuding a calm and detached air. Despite his clean-cut and aloof appearance, an inexplicable chill and sharpness radiated from him.
Expressionless, he strode in encased in his frosty aura. Even the subtle movement of his brows, the cadence of his steps, or the faint sway of his hair—all of it carried an irresistible yet domineering allure.
