At the same time, someone barged into Cory's building. His men were on guard. They stood in a row in front of him, glaring at Mark with caution.

They could sense the air of hostility radiating from Mark. They didn't dare to go closer to him at all and only stood there on guard.

Cory drank the remaining red wine in his glass before slowly getting up. He pushed his men aside and headed toward Mark.

"For the past few days, you—"

The next second, a shiny gleam flashed across his eyes. A dagger was right on Cory's throat. A few drops of blood seeped out from where the blade had cut his flesh.

Cory's men moved in closer in unison, but Cory raised his hand to signal them to stand down.

He lowered his gaze to the dagger. "I know you're angry, but killing me will be useless."

"Why?" Mark clutched the dagger tightly. He asked through gritted teeth, "Why didn't you attack that night?"

"For personal reasons." Cory didn't want to explain too much.

He looked into Mark's eyes. "Consider thi