Saphira shot Cyrilla a sharp look. “Have you forgotten what our life was like back home?”
Cyrilla’s expression fell. She looked down at the floor, defeated.
“I can see your daughter is very opposed to this,” Zeke said. “She won’t be happy if she’s forced to be with my grandson.”
“Feelings can be cultivated,” Saphira said, trying to sound accommodating. “The two of them can learn to care for each other, as long as you honor your promise.”
Zeke opened his mouth to say more, but just then, the doors to the drawing-room swung open. A servant stood at the entrance. “Mr. Lucian Shapiro has returned.”
The doors opened fully, and a tall, imposing figure strode into the room.
Saphira and Cyrilla both looked up, freezing on the spot. The man who entered was as straight and unyielding as a pine tree, his perfectly tailored black suit accentuating a physique of broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His features were sharp and chiseled, with brows like swords and eyes as cold and distant as stars. He exuded an aura of formidable authority without saying a word.
Cyrilla’s eyes lit up, and a blush crept up her cheeks. She had never seen a man so handsome, more striking than any movie star. Those strong, well-defined hands, those long legs, that cool, commanding presence—he was the embodiment of every fantasy she’d ever had about the perfect man.
Lucian’s appearance completely shattered Cyrilla’s stereotype of a thirty-something man with a beer belly and a bushy beard.
“Grandpa,” Lucian said coolly, his gaze sweeping over Saphira and Cyrilla without so much as a pause.
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