Chapter 1183

Lysander drew in a heavy breath, stood up, and released her.

Thalassa scrambled to her feet and hurried to the bathroom.

Shutting the door, she perched on the toilet seat, pressing a hand to her wildly beating heart, trying to calm the frantic rhythm.

But even with her hand pressed firmly and drawing several deep breaths, her heartbeat continued to thrash uncontrollably.

Lysander’s ragged breathing seemed to echo in her ears, his husky voice, laden with anticipation, lingering in her mind, refusing to dissipate, driving her heart into a frenzy.

Panic-stricken, this was the chaos of panic, of wanting to flee, of not knowing what to do.

She had never imagined that Lysander could fall for her.

A man like Lysander, his affections were too deep, too intense, domineering and possessive, and she feared she couldn't bear it or accept it.

Even if he did like her, he wouldn't marry her. She could never be more than a secret lover, hidden away. The Sinclairs would never allow her to marry Lysander, and Lysander himself would never marry her.

What was the point of such a relationship with no future?

Thalassa remained on the toilet, reluctant to emerge.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the bathroom door, jolting Thalassa back to reality. She looked towards the frosted glass door, seeing Lysander’s tall, imposing silhouette.

It was Lysander knocking, urging her out.

Thalassa pinched the waistband of her pants and called out, “I’m... uh, gonna be a while. Big business, you know.”

After she spoke, Lysander's tall figure lingered at the door for a while before walking away.

As his ominous presence left, Thalassa's taut nerves relaxed slightly. She remained seated on the toilet, mulling over her thoughts.

After what seemed like an eternity, Thalassa finally stepped out to find Lysander lying on the bed, his penetrating gaze fixed on the ceiling, lost in thought.

Hearing her, he turned his eyes towards her, and seeing her hesitation, beckoned her with a low, magnetic voice, “Come here.”

It was a simple request, yet delivered with an innate authority that made Thalassa feel oppressed.

Like an unspoken command, Thalassa took steps towards the bed.

Lysander sat up and reached out his hand. Thalassa's breath hitched, but she placed her hand in his.

His large palm enclosed hers, drawing her onto the bed, guiding her to lie down. His rough hand slid to her waist, then to her stomach.

Lysander paused, his deep gaze locked on hers. After a second, he removed her hand and continued to gently stroke her belly.

Realizing his intent, Thalassa’s body relaxed, allowing his hand to continue its gentle exploration.

After a while, not sensing anything unusual, Lysander bent down, his ear against her stomach.

Updated at Drąmanovеls.cоm Thalassa was taken aback and slightly overwhelmed.

Was he trying to hear the baby’s movements?