Ytrisia folded her arms tightly beneath her heavy breasts, the motion inadvertently pushing her lush cleavage up against the plunging, loose neckline of her thin hospital gown. She squinted at him as she stepped closer, her bare thighs brushing together—recalling Darithi's blunt words and aiming her frustration directly at Cruxius. He had been shamelessly stalking her, and not once had his handsome face shown a single shred of remorse.
"..."
Cruxius hadn't expected that. He stared at Ytrisia's flushed, indignant face for a moment, his dark gaze dipping briefly to the soft swell of her chest straining against the sterile fabric before he casually turned his head back to the ceiling.
A heavy realization settled in—Darithi messed up.
Most likely, Ytrisia had aggressively questioned Darithi about the highly sensitive information she had received so quickly regarding the person behind the attack on the headquarters of Channel Poggo.
