Slowly Descending, Thin Lips Kissing...

After Cynthia Shannon bent down to get into the car, she inadvertently looked at the man beside her.

The man elegantly crossed his legs, sitting with a straight back. His hands naturally rested on his legs, and fingers interlaced. His exquisite facial features were concealed in the dim light, with sharp and cold contours that were half visible and half hidden, exuding an indescribable sense of restraint.

After some time, she suddenly spoke, "Thank you for earlier."

Even if Tristan Ford hadn't taken action earlier, she could have handled the situation herself. But the man in front of her had good intentions, and she had no reason not to appreciate it.

Tristan turned his gaze towards her, his eyes carrying a hint of nonchalance. "Just verbal thanks?"

Cynthia was slightly taken aback by his lack of politeness, but after a moment's thought, she realized that her words of gratitude might have seemed insincere. "What kind of gift do you want?"