With a weary expression, he ran a hand through his dark, lengthy hair, smoothing it back before straightening from the chaise lounge by the French window. Strands of dark hair slipped across his face, giving him an effortless charm that failed to mask the intimidation in his restrained amber eyes.
Slipping into his indoor slippers, he moved past the coffee table littered with a bottle of whisky and an empty glass.
Dressed in black baggy pants and a polo, he strode out of the room.
Descending the stairs, he headed straight for the kitchen, the quiet house filled only with the soft hum of maids going about their usual tasks.
Grace, at the other end, acting like she was dusting the curtains, kept her eyes fixated on him. She eyed him, squeezing her body subtly as her thoughts began to run wild despite Zane not noticing her.
Never did he.
Once Zane stepped into the kitchen, he reached for his mug from the cupboard and placed it beneath the machine.
