The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet (Thalassa and Elowen)
Chapter 1089

Alone in her hospital room, Thalassa lay back against a stack of pillows, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she tried to summon sleep. Despite the day's exhaustion and the relief of having her IV drip finally removed, sleep remained elusive.

Suddenly, a noise at the door startled her. After everything she had been through, her senses were on high alert. Tension gripped her as she called out, "Who's there?"

The door swung open, spilling a sliver of light from the hallway into the dim room, casting a gentle glow around the edges of the darkness.

A tall, imposing figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. The man was dressed in a tailored black suit, with matching trousers and shirt that accentuated his commanding presence.

Even in silence, Lysander's aura was palpable-his mere presence seemed to fill the room with a deep, oppressive force.

Thalassa held her breath as she recognized Lysander's striking good looks, his sharp features causing her heart to flutter uncontrollably.

What could he want at this late hour?

The memory of his anger earlier that day, his fingers tight on her chin, made her grip the sheets in nervous anticipation.

Lysander advanced into the room without turning on the lights, stopping beside Thalassa's bed. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, and she stiffened, watching him warily as he loomed over her. He reached out a hand, and in a panic, Thalassa turned her head away, desperate to avoid his touch.

Lysander's hand paused momentarily, his piercing gaze locking onto her. Eventually, he gently used his index finger to coax her face back toward him, while his thumb tenderly traced over the bruised skin of her chin.

The rough touch of his thumb, warm against her skin, made the sore area throb with a mixture of pain and a strange heat, as if igniting a fire within her.

Her voice tight with caution, Thalassa demanded, "Lysander, what do you think you're doing?"

Sensing her guarded tone, Lysander's eyes softened with a hint of concern. "Does it hurt?" he asked, looking directly into her eyes.

Thalassa was taken aback. She had expected another outburst from him, not this low, magnetic voice inquiring about her pain.

Did he not know how much force he had used, and how much it had hurt her?

Annoyed, she retorted, "Why don't you try it yourself and find out?"

Lysander hesitated, then took her hand in his.

Her wrist caught in his firm grasp, Thalassa tried to pull away, her voice rising in alarm, "What are you doing?"

But Lysander was unyielding, lifting her hand to his chin and instructing her in a husky voice, "Go on, squeeze. Use all your strength. Let me feel it."

Thalassa's eyes widened in disbelief, her fingers involuntarily gripping his chiseled jawline, which exuded a raw, masculine charm.

She knew that no matter how hard she tried, she was unlikely to cause him any discomfort. Trying to pinch him would only be masochistic.

With a swift motion, Thalassa pulled her hand back. "Leave me be. I want to sleep!"

"You don't want to see me?" Lysander queried, a tinge of something indefinable in his voice.