?Chapter 397:


    Lydia nodded slightly. “Yeah, she was here this afternoon.”


    At work, Jeffry embodied sophistication, almost always d in a sleek ck suit. The tailoring was impable, hugging his frame in a way that entuated his tall,manding presence. His features were sharp, his gaze intense, as though he could strip away every pretense with a single look.


    Though there were traces of resemnce between him and Elena, Jeffry exuded a maturity far beyond his years, a quiet confidence that was as enigmatic as it waspelling.


    When Jeffry’s expression was at ease, it carried a quiet maism, the kind that drew people in effortlessly. But when his features hardened with seriousness, he radiated an authority that made others instinctively straighten their backs.


    This duality left Lydia utterly spellbound.


    Each evening when Jeffry returned, they dined together, their lives unfolding under the same roof in an unspoken rhythm.


    Even at home, work clung to him like a shadow, his attention buried in documents and emails. Meanwhile, Lydia sat beside him with a book open in herp, though she barely turned a page every half-hour. The printed words blurred, overshadowed by her awareness of his presence.


    This was never the life she had envisioned for herself. It was steady, undisturbed—so much so that she found herself wanting to anchor within it, to belong.


    Her feelings for Jeffry had evolved, slipping past the boundaries of mere attraction into something more intricate, something even she struggled to define. She had begun to anticipate the nights.


    For instance, now—she held her phone as if engrossed, but in reality, her eyes flickered to Jeffry in stolen nces. He had shed his suit jacket, leaving only a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, emphasizing the lean, sculpted lines of his waist. A single thought consumed her—that waist was dangerously attractive.


    The maid had already set the table and quietly exited, leaving behind a spread of steaming dishes.


    With the veins on his arms clearly visible, Jeffry rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt. Without a word, he leaned down and scooped Lydia up with ease.


    Lydia’s arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, and as her forehead pressed lightly against his chest, she caught the faint, lingering trace of his cologne. A secret smile yed on her lips. Jeffry’s expression remained unreadable as he gently ced her onto the dining chair before straightening and turning away.


    м?г? υρ??т?? ?т g?l????l?.???


    The room fell into a familiar hush.


    Jeffry ate quietly, his movements refined as ever.


    Once they finished the meal, Jeffry lifted Lydia again, carrying her effortlessly to the living room sofa before heading toward the kitchen.


    Lydia rested her chin in her palm, watching him stand by the sink.


    Jeffry’s long, slender fingers moved with effortless grace, as if artistry coursed through his veins. This scene mirrored the quiet domesticity of newlyweds settling into an unspoken rhythm.


    Lydia’s gaze followed his fluid motions, asionally lingering on the sculpted lines of his lean waist.


    Her injury was healing. Though caution was still necessary, pain no longer restricted her movements. As difort faded, her thoughts stirred restlessly, slipping into corners she had been too distracted to explore before.


    .


    .


    .