But somehow, something was missing—.
For instance, the flutter of the heart, or even the slightest impulse to understand him better.
"Mr. Hart is not bad."
"Being a policeman, he shouldn't be too bad."
Tristan Sterling let out a low chuckle.
He walked towards her step by step.
Vivian Sinclair watched as his tall figure gradually enveloped her, her heart inexplicably tightening.
She instinctively took a step back, her steps faltering until her back suddenly hit the cold edge of the table.
Her breath caught, her throat dry, her voice trembling slightly.
"Mr. Sterling, you..."
Before she could finish, his low voice sounded in her ear.
"What about me?"
The voice slipped past her ear with a warm breath.
"Wha...what?"
Vivian could barely form a complete sentence.
She looked down, her gaze falling on the hem of his dark suit trousers, not daring to look up at him.
The feeling of being strongly oppressed was too pronounced.
