Mia Grant stared intently at the clock on the wall.
The second hand ticked around and around, and the oxygen in the room seemed to vanish.
The world stood still, as if someone had quietly pressed pause.
Her hand, gripping the remote, tightened… and tightened again…
…until a soft gasp sounded by her ear.
Mia Grant whipped her head around to look at Ian Sinclair. A flash of pain crossed the young man's eyes.
Her heart skipped a beat. A second later, she looked down and realized she wasn't gripping the remote—it was his hand.
And now, her nails were digging into his flesh.
Startled, Mia Grant quickly let go. "I'm sorry."
Ian Sinclair had only lost his composure for that single moment. Now, meeting her gaze, he looked completely unfazed, not even glancing down at the injury.
"I'm fine."
"Why are you so tense?"
Mia Grant didn't answer, grabbing his hand to examine it closely.
Ian Sinclair tried to pull away, but she was surprisingly strong. He couldn't fight her.
