The security camera was right at the door, capturing George Stephens' face in full.
Tears were still clinging to the corners of his eyes as he looked up at Robert Stephens' room for a moment, then fiercely wiped his tears, turned around, and walked into the forest step by step.
Robert Stephens' fist never loosened; he kept a firm gaze on George Stephens' figure until it disappeared from the monitor, his whole body tense like a drawn bow.
"Sir!" The old butler, who had watched George Stephens grow up, was now flustered, "The young master spent a night in the mountains! The temperature difference here between day and night is so great, something could happen!"
"Shut up!" Robert Stephens rarely used such a harsh tone; he no longer had his usual indifferent calmness. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice, "Notify the director and tell him to stop filming now, release some people to go find him for me!"
*
