章 81: CHAPTER 81: BLAMING YOURSELF WON'T HEAL THE WOUNDS; IT WILL ONLY DEEPEN THEM

Draymond unclasped his seatbelt, calmly waiting for Simon to open the car door. He was clad with leather shoes, black slacks, and a coat enveloped in a plain black cloak. A gray straw fedora hat sat atop his head, and his hands were encased in snug Saint Laurent Cassandre's short gloves.

"Go back now," he instructed, striding purposefully down the dim hallway of their base.

The guards acknowledged him with a nod, and a man armed with a weapon swung open the substantial oak door for his exit. The aroma of a cigar and the fragrance of whiskey greeted his senses. The clinking of whiskey glasses and the soft shuffle of cards filled the air, accompanied by a muffled chuckle.

The warm glow of a chandelier illuminated the surroundings. The center stage was a striking gold dragon statue surrounded by walls adorned with various high-priced paintings.

"Quiet! The boss just got here," someone whispered.