It was as if oxygen had suddenly become a luxury Doyle couldn't afford. His world kept shrinking with every word that tripped off Luca Kyros's tongue.
By the time that little shit actually asked if he had any more "suggestions," Doyle felt like he was burning up with a fever while simultaneously freezing to death.
The tension was palpable; everyone around him had turned hostile, a stark contrast to the way Luca's smile just kept widening. At that point, it wasn't a question of whether someone was going to get to him, but who'd be the fastest to do it.
The correct answer would've been Luca. But the cadet was the type to launch an attack without even realizing he was holding a weapon. Moreover, the golden-eyed heir was genuinely, innocently waiting for an answer.
After all, in that little money-grubber's mind, the shiny uncle might've had some serious anger issues, but his feedback had been great for the guild's growth!
