“I hear you’re unwell,” Roman drawled, his gaze shifting from the laptop to Rose’s face. His deep, penetrating eyes had her gulping down her dread and anticipation.
“It’s nothing,” she fidgeted, unable to remain standing in one place, and yet refusing to sit down.
“Nothing won’t have you running out of your room like the devil had you trapped,” he retorted, his voice chilling, calm, deadly.
He didn’t like being told lies. But then again, nobody liked that. He just had close to 0 tolerance for them, even white lies.
Rose heaved a sigh, her gaze dropping to the floor, before she said sheepishly, “Just allow me to keep some dignity, will you?”
“Rosalina,” the way her name rolled off his tongue — like a sensual caress — made her breath hitch in her throat.
“Roman, you don’t understand,”
