But there was always something missing—.
For example, a racing heart, or even just a hint of impulse to get to know more.
"Mr. Hart is not bad."
"Being a policeman, he probably isn't too bad."
Tristan let out a low chuckle.
He walked toward her, step by step.
Vivian watched as his tall figure gradually loomed over her, her heart tightening for no apparent reason.
She instinctively stepped back, her steps faltering, until her back suddenly hit the cold edge of the desk.
Her breathing snagged, throat dry, her voice trembling slightly.
"Mr. Sterling, you…"
Before she could finish, his deep voice sounded in her ear.
"What about me?"
His voice slid into her ear, carrying a warm breath.
"Wha…what?"
Vivian could barely string together a complete sentence.
She hung her head, eyes fixed on the hem of his dark suit trousers, not daring to look up at him at all.
The sense of being pressured by his dominance was overwhelming.
