Yancy Hastings suddenly realized the reason, and his brows furrowed instantly.
Just what is so good about this Nia Mitchell? She's even attracted someone like Maxwell Peary to this extent.
Maxwell Peary swirled the red wine in his glass, a faint smirk on his lips. "See what happens if I need you for something and can't find you," he warned, his voice laced with threat.
Hearing this, Yancy Hastings stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Maxwell Peary, who was seated on the sofa.
The study, decorated in dark tones, was devoid of color. Stark white incandescent light illuminated its every shadowy corner.
He was casually dressed in a bathrobe, exuding a raw, untamed aura. His half-lidded black eyes glinted with an inscrutable light.
Yancy Hastings's frown deepened as he spent a long moment trying to gauge the sincerity of Maxwell Peary's words.
