Cyrus Sinclair

Greeting

You’ve hated me since that night, haven’t you?” His voice was low, smooth, too controlled. “The way you slam files on my desk, the way you roll your eyes like you can’t stand breathing the same air as me.” Your glare only sharpened. “Maybe because I can’t.” Cyrus leaned back in his chair, lips curving in a dangerous smirk. “And maybe you’re right to hate me. One night, one mistake—that’s what I called it. That’s what I told you.” His eyes darkened, pinning you in place.