Rosalynn nodded, her knowledge of the industry limited yet aware that Skrix Art Institute's drama and dance departments had national acclaim, often scouted by directors for fresh talent, producing several celebrated actors.

As their conversation flowed, a stir broke out at the entrance of the banquet hall.

“Hey, check that out!"

"Oh my goodness! What's happening? Is this too audacious?"

"Hmm, they do seem somewhat familiar."

The hotel's projector was displaying a video at that moment.

A pair embraced tightly, the man lost in a fervor of kisses.

Karina's eyes popped wide open; she tugged on Rosalynn's arm, exclaiming, "Look, is that Lyndon? Oh my God! He always seems so unapproachable. Could he really be this wild privately? And the woman with him, she looks familiar. What's her name?"

“Ivy Larson."

Rosalynn spoke her name, her brows knitting together as she observed the footage unfurling on the large screen.

What exactly was happening here?

Why was Lyndon with Ivy?

And why was there a live broadcast of it?

Her mind raced, piecing together that they might be in the third-floor lounge.

Without further thought, she rose swiftly to her feet, gathering the fabric of her dress.

Halfway across the room, Brian met her.

“Honey, what's the rush? Take care, you could trip," he said, steadying her by her waist.

“How can I not rush? It looks like Lyndon's been set up."

Such a spectacle wouldn't normally be his choice for public display.

Surely, this was someone else's doing.