The man let out a low chuckle, as if amused by his own audacity. "Oh come on, that was a good joke," he said with a grin, gesturing with open arms. "At least laugh a little."
No one laughed.
Not even a twitch of a smile.
The room was quiet as death.
His expression twitched—irritation bleeding into it as he scratched the back of his head. "Tch. Tough crowd. Fine, fine. Just so you know, I have no intention of laying a hand on that old hag. Seriously, look at me."
He gestured at himself with both hands, sweeping down his perfectly tailored coat, his sharp jawline, his unnaturally symmetrical features.
"Do I look like I'd need to stoop to that?"
He wasn't wrong. The man was the kind of attractive that made people stop mid-sentence. But the sentiment was irrelevant.
His presence here, his intent to take Liana, had nothing to do with looks or preference.
Whatever he wanted—it wasn't good.
Liana slowly stepped forward.
