"What is it?"
Aiston's aged yet sharp eyes narrowed with suspicion, his gaze locked onto the man's hand, his face etched with wariness.
"Take a look, my lord," The man unfurled his palm, and a pocket watch suddenly dangled free, swaying gently.
"What is this?"
Aiston's focus zeroed in on the watch—only to realize, a second too late.
Damn it—hypnosis!
He tried to tear his eyes away, but it was already too late.
The taut thread of his consciousness snapped, his mind slipping into fog.
A cruel smirk curled at the corner of Sinclair's lips.
He was going to extract the evidence from Aiston—the proof that would drag Luna down from her throne.
—— Meanwhile, in the grand hall of the palace.
Damn it!
Harvey's already grim expression darkened further at the sight of Luna, clad in her navy-blue suit, her face stern and unyielding.
He knew all too well that the next few minutes would be the most excruciating of his life.
"Your Highness!"
