The noise of the private dining room—a background hum of clinking crystal glasses, muffled laughter, and ambient jazz—instantly faded into absolute irrelevance the second the call connected. Jayden's chest tightened, a sharp spike of adrenaline burning through his veins as a slurred, disoriented breath echoed through the receiver.
"Where are you? Sarah, what's going on?" he demanded, his voice dropping into an urgent, low register that commanded immediate attention.
He didn't waste a single heartbeat. Pushing himself up from the table so fast his chair scraped loudly against the polished hardwood floor, he signaled his departure. He caught the eye of Arjoona, who gave him a solemn, understanding nod, instantly reading the crisis written across Jayden's tense features. Without waiting for another word of farewell to his friends, Jayden swept out of the VIP room, the heavy mahogany door clicking shut behind him as he pressed the phone tighter against his ear.
