Raphael hurried forward, slightly out of breath, holding a bottle of cold water.
"Sir, here's your water."
Manson took it without slowing his stride. His voice was calm, almost indifferent.
"Get me a towel."
"Yes, sir."
Raphael immediately turned and left.
Manson moved closer to Fiona.
The distance between them closed slowly, deliberately.
Fiona's gaze betrayed her before she could stop it; dragging over his broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest, the effortless dominance in the way he carried himself. Something in her chest tightened. Her breath caught, subtle but real.
Manson noticed.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Are you that flustered… that you can't keep your eyes off my body?"
Fiona blinked, immediately lifting her chin, refusing to be cornered.
"You're clearly the one exposing it," she shot back coolly. "If you don't want people staring, maybe try wearing more clothes."
That earned her a low, amused smile.
