Before seven o'clock, Gladstone was jolted awake by the sounds outside his window.
He sat up abruptly, and immediately his head felt as though an ax had struck it. The pain nearly made him collapse back onto the bed.
He had not gone to sleep until after three, and only because he had drunk a great deal. Otherwise, he would not have been able to sleep at all.
Whenever he lay in bed and stared into the darkness, an indescribable fear would linger in his heart.
That feeling... was like sitting at a desk, watching girls who could not afford clothes doing handicrafts in a magazine, while the sound of his parents' footsteps rang out beyond the door—just as he reached the final moment.
The fear of being discovered at any time, anywhere, was exactly what he felt right now!
Only after getting thoroughly drunk could he sink into unconsciousness.
After taking a sip of water, he rubbed his forehead, struggled to his feet, walked to the window, pulled open the curtains, and squinted outside.
Summer mornings brightened early. One could already see clearly before six, and now it was nearly seven.
The newly risen sun was not dazzling, and its rays were not scorching. Falling on the people outside, they gave no hint of how brutal the heat would be by noon! The area outside was already packed with people: reporters, police maintaining order, and bodyguards stationed in the courtyard! A burst of fury shot up from the soles of his feet with a whoosh. He stared at the reporters for a while, then turned and entered the washroom.
Before long, he was dressed and ready, and had reached the front door.
The reporters frantically pressed their shutters. Countless others began shouting questions on their own, not caring whether