"You're still making excuses!" the man bellowed, pointing a menacing finger at Thalassa.

"Ah!" Suddenly, as he pointed at Thalassa, Lysander lifted his cane and struck the man's hand, eliciting a cry of pain. The man quickly turned to Lysander, only to meet his icy glare. Swallowing his anger, the man bowed his head in a show of respect, unable to voice his fury.

Lysander's voice, deep and tinged with restrained anger, cut through the tension. "Whether or not she's behind the design, you weren't harmed. Why the rush to lay hands on her? What are you hiding? Who put you up to this?"

His words went straight to the heart of the matter.

The man who confronted Thalassa was a stranger to her, with no apparent reason to harbor such resentment over a mere design.

People are driven by their own interests. If someone threatens those, they become the enemy.

The designs up for auction hadn't even reached the bidding stage yet, and this gentleman hadn't purchased anything from Thalassa. Did he really have a reason to be this enraged with her?

interrogation, the man stumbled over his words, his gaze darting around guiltily. "Look, Mr. Sinclair, what

the man said, bowing hastily before turning to leave as if fearing he'd be unable to escape if he delayed any longer. Thalassa watched Lysander's

wasn't over; the

forward,

held their tongues, watching

her gaze icy

seemed to carry a bit of Lysander's imposing aura. Was it possible that spending time with Lysander had lent her

me the anklet in your hand, and hand over all the

was incensed. Who was Thalassa

she felt an icy stare drilling into her back. It was Lysander's unmistakable gaze laden with a

by a cold mist,

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