Phoebe's POV
With Harold positioned sideways, I couldn't tear my gaze away from his flawless silhouette. The subtle movement of his throat as he swallowed held me completely captive.
The moment was effortlessly seductive.
So natural, yet tantalizingly out of reach—that very untouchability made it impossible for me to look elsewhere. I remained mesmerized, watching the rhythmic motion of his Demetrius's apple until he drained his glass and leaned over to place it on the nightstand. Only then did I finally break free from my trance.
"Phoebe? Why aren't you drinking? Don't you like the milk?" Harold's concerned voice cut through my daze. He must have sensed my intense stare because he turned toward me, noticing how I sat frozen with the untouched cup in my hands.
His question jolted me back to reality.
Harold had already emptied his glass while I hadn't even taken a sip. I stammered quickly, "What? Oh! I'll drink it now..."
