ORTON'S POV
"You look troubled unlike you," Cyprian said over a glass of whiskey.
I grunted in response as I brought the glass, half-filled with whiskey to my lips. I took a sip of the drink. Goddess! Why does it taste stronger than usual?
Was it my taste buds? Or was I point blank not just interested in doing anything tonight, including my most cherished party?
"I'm okay…" I responded coldly.
"I don't think so. I mean your countenance says it all," he paused, "Man, I know you too well, you love partying with the s*x slaves and your brothers,"
I cast a glare and he straightened on his seat, "I am giddy as always. I don't know what you're talking about,"
He shrugged one of his shoulders slowly, "Alright, if you say so," he said, pouring himself the third glass of malt scotch whiske
