Nocturne Bar.
Isla Prescott had been here a few times, so the bar staff already recognized her.
"Is Young Mr. Sterling in?" Isla Prescott asked.
"Young Mr. Sterling is upstairs sleeping."
"Could you please let him know that Isla Prescott is here to see him?"
The staff member looked troubled. Everyone knew the boss had been in a foul mood for the past few days. Even the ants on the ground gave him a wide berth, afraid of being scorched to a crisp. The staff's survival tactic was to avoid seeking an audience with him unless absolutely necessary. Only someone with a death wish would dare provoke him while he was sleeping.
"But... Young Mr. Sterling is sleeping. He doesn't like to be disturbed when he's sleeping."
"Please, I have something very important. How about you just let me go up? I'll find him myself. I'll just say I snuck up on my own."
Perhaps sensing her desperation from her red, tear-swollen eyes, the staff member steeled themself and said, "Wait here a moment."
