Chapter 370
The man on the other end of the line was as cold as a winter wind, chilling to the bone.
His voice was icy and devoid of warmth as he commanded, “From now on, not even a grain of bread should reach her!”
Fitch felt a chill running down his spine, his heart pounding for Thalassa, but he dared not defy Lysander’s orders. He managed a response, “Yes, Mr. Sinclair”
The line went dead before he could finish his statement.
Fitch looked up at Thalassa, her chest heaving, her eyes filled with anger yet a glimmer of hope.
Feeling sorry, Fitch suggested, “Ms. Everhart, perhaps you should rest in your room.
Upon hearing his words, Thalassa knew she had failed.
She had used hunger as a weapon, yet Lysander still refused to let her go.
Thalassa clenched her fists, her heart aching with pain and anger. Her breathing became heavy as she stood there, processing the harsh reality.
With a few heavy breaths, she turned on her heel and stomped up the stairs.
She had planned to contact Hertha for help, but her phone had died.
She scrambled through the room for a suitable charger, but to no avail.
There were two chargers in the room, but neither of them can be used.
Her phone was dead. Without a charger, she was cut off from the outside world.
Her anxiety grew stronger, and she found it impossible to rest.
As she paced in the master bedroom, her heart pounded with agitation and discomfort.
Time flew by, and soon it was afternoon.
She didn’t leave her room, and no one came looking for her.
It was as if she didn’t exist in the Royal Estates.
As the sun set, nightfall came.
Thalassa grew tense with the thought of Lysander’s return, her heart pounded with fear.
But she had to face the reality. Come seven in the evening, Lysander was back.
She heard the engine of his car in the driveway.
Her already taut nerves wound tighter as she remained vigilant.”
She stood silently in her room, listening to the faint sounds outside.
The door creaked open, and a wave of cold, intimidating air swept into the room.
Thalassa’s heart skipped a beat. She looked up to see Lysander, tall and imposing, his aura overpowering and frosty.
His handsome, chiseled face was as somber and cold as a stormy day.
He strode towards her, his strong masculine presence closing in.
Terrified, Thalassa backed away.
She had been on high alert for any indication of Lysander approaching her room, yet she hadn’t heard a sound before he opened the door. Could he have flown upstairs?
Did he make no sound when he walked?
Before she could make sense of it, Lysander was right beside her. Startled, she backed away until her heels hit the bed. She was cornered.
Lysander’s broad chest loomed closer as he reached out and cupped her face. His hand, rough and warm, made her feel like she had been electrocuted. It was a sensation both shocking and uncomfortable.
“What are you trying to do?” Thalassa asked, her voice shaky with fear.
With her cheeks in his grasp, her voice came out muffled like a child’s whine.