The folder landed on the ground with a thud while Yestin's face burned with shame as he recalled his earlier assumptions about Elian having an improper relationship with Hirvan.
How could the president have a son this old? Where had he been until now? Who was his mother?!
His eyes widened as he looked at Elian, flabbergasted.
Elian stood, concern flickering across his face.
"Are you alright? Why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?"
Elian, not receiving a response, approached Yestin, but the man stepped back in fright. Dodging the hand Elian had stretched toward him.
His pulse quickened as Elian's sudden closeness overwhelmed him. His movements already unsteady from fatigue and emotional turmoil, betrayed him as his heel caught on the edge of the thick office carpet. His balance wavered.
