At that moment, upon hearing what Oliver just said earlier, Clinton's face twisted with disbelief. His brows furrowed deeply, his mouth parting slightly before his tone sharpened, echoing through the quiet compound.
"Wait—hold on a second," he said, stepping forward, his voice filled with arrogance and wounded pride. "Is it me you're just talking to like that? Like… did you just say those words to me?" His hand even pressed against his own chest in mock confusion, his eyes narrowing as though daring Oliver to repeat it.
However Oliver didn't respond immediately. He paused mid-step, his shoes grinding slightly against the gravel beneath him. His back was still turned, shoulders squared and calm, but there was something quietly powerful in his stillness. Then slowly, he turned his head not fully, just enough for Clinton to see part of his expression from the corner of his eye. His tone was calm but sharp, every word deliberate and edged with quiet authority.
