The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet novel Chapter 1271

Thalassa bolted upright, a rush of awkwardness propelling her to take several steps forward, distancing herself from Lysander as if that could somehow diffuse the embarrassing air from moments ago when she found herself perched on his lap.

She glanced back after a few paces and caught the surprised looks from the hotel staff. With a sheepish grin, she tried to alleviate the tension in the air, lifting a hand in a shaky wave and chuckling, "Carry on, please."

The housekeeper masked her own discomfort, nodding with a polite wariness, "Of course, we'll have this done in no time."

As the staff began briskly tending to the bed nearest the door, their nervous haste was palpable—they were clearly itching to swap out the linens and make themselves scarce.

Thalassa knew exactly what was running through their minds—they had seen her on Lysander's lap and must have thought they'd interrupted a private moment.

The mere thought of them imagining her and Lysander together in bed sent a blush to her cheeks, hot as boiling water scalding her skin.

While she squirmed in her discomfort, Lysander remained the picture of casual repose, lounging against the nightstand with one leg stretched out, the other bent, his hands resting casually on his knees. His gaze, fixed on Thalassa, was calm and unfathomable, as if she were the only person in his world.

Feeling the weight of his cool stare at her back, she shivered involuntarily, her skin prickling with unease as if she were prey under a predator's watchful eye.

She forced a laugh, "I'll just step out for a bit."

"Hold it right there!" Lysander's voice, cool and commanding, stopped her in her tracks.

Thalassa turned, her heart pounding, to meet his penetrating gaze—deep and dark as the ocean's abyss, capable of drowning one's soul.

"Mr. Sinclair, is there something you need?" she asked meekly.

Mr. Sinclair? The formality seemed to chill the air around them further, the room's temperature plummeting with his displeasure.