"Is that Possible?"

Whether intentional or not, Tristan's grip on Cynthia's ankle tightened slightly, causing her to involuntarily draw in a breath. She looked up at Tristan. His clear apricot eyes, black and white in purity, carried a hint of unclear innocence. But Tristan didn't overlook the slyness that flashed in her eyes.

She was clearly trying to elicit his sympathy and tenderness. On the other end of the phone, Luca, hearing the sound, hurriedly inquired, "Miss Shannon, what's wrong? Are you okay?" "I'm fine," Cynthia said, then hung up the phone. She casually tossed the phone aside, and the foot resting on Tristan's leg couldn't stay still, rubbing against him, lifting the toes, and tugging at his clothing.