"Who said you could touch my things?" a voice thundered from behind me, reverberating through the room like distant lightning. I felt my heart drop, caught in a moment of sheer panic. With eyes closed tightly, I braced myself for the storm that was about to unfold.
His voice was frigid and unwavering, slicing through the stillness like a sharp blade as I stood frozen, trembling slightly. I didn't want him to know it was me, so I hastily reached for the laptop, shutting it with a decisive click. Turning to face him, a smile—albeit forced—played on my lips, but deep down, I knew I shouldn't let that façade linger.
Roman stood before me, his expression a mix of disapproval and authority, eyebrows arched sharply. His golden eyes pierced through me, scrutinizing every anxious quirk in my demeanor, making it abundantly clear that my guilty conscience was on full display.
