The group stepped out of the private room together, with Manager Thomas personally guiding them all the way to the restaurant’s main entrance.
The moment the doors opened, a grim scene unfolded.
A man in his early fifties, dressed in casual athletic wear, was kneeling on the ground. Beside him knelt Oscar Ritchson, his face swollen beyond recognition, distorted and bruised like a piece of ruined meat.
Nearby, Emily Zane and her two friends were in even worse shape.
Their clothes were scuffed and dirty, shoe prints smeared across their bodies. They huddled together, trembling uncontrollably, terror filling their eyes.
In their world, Oscar had always stood high above everyone else—untouchable, powerful.
Yet now, he looked no different from a stray dog pressed into the dirt.
Even more
