The next morning, Tryson descended the grand staircase, his athletic form dressed in a sleek sports outfit that hugged his physique perfectly, signaling his readiness for an invigorating jog around the estate.
The cool morning air seeped in through the slightly open windows, promising a refreshing start to the day.
As he adjusted the headphones over his ears, his gaze swept briefly across the polished wooden floor, and he froze mid-step at the sight of Angel.
Angel, with her tousled hair framing her face and her sleepy deanor evident in her slow, drowsy movents, stepped out of the room and headed toward the kitchen.
Dressed casually but elegantly in a loose, comfortable outfit, she exuded a natural charm that seed to light up the space despite her evident exhaustion.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as they landed on Tryson, who was making his way downstairs, looking every bit the image of a man who owned the world.
"Is there sowhere you’re planning to head out to?" Angel asked, her voice steady yet curious, breaking the morning silence as Tryson paused and pulled off his headphones.
"Hey," he greeted her warmly, his tone calm yet tinged with a casual charm.
For a brief mont, Angel’s gaze lingered on him, as if caught off guard by his approachable deanor.
"Hi," she replied softly, her voice lower now, almost tentative.
"Are you heading sowhere?" Angel repeated, her question carrying an undertone of genuine interest and perhaps a trace of suspicion.
"Hmm, I was just planning to take a jog," Tryson responded, his nonchalant tone betraying his surprise at being asked twice.
"Oh," Angel said simply, her tone void of enthusiasm as she turned her attention toward the kitchen.
She moved to grab a bottle of water, but before she could take a step further, Tryson’s voice halted her in her tracks.
"Do you want to join ?" he asked, his words cutting through the quiet like an unexpected gust of wind.
Angel froze mid-step and turned, fixing him with a sharp, pointed stare.
Her eyes conveyed both disbelief and a faint trace of irritation, as though she couldn’t quite believe he had made such a suggestion.
"Tryson," she began, her voice carrying a note of restrained exasperation, "your doctor said I should take it easy because of the baby. Do you really think jogging is the best thing for right now?"
Tryson raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusent and skepticism as if he wasn’t entirely convinced by her argunt.
"Seriously? Moore said you shouldn’t overexert yourself, but a light jog isn’t going to hurt you or the baby," he countered, his voice persuasive but calm.
"Really, Tryson?" Angel said, her tone laced with sarcasm and an unmistakable hint of defiance.
She turned away without waiting for his response, walking toward the kitchen as if to signal that the conversation was over.
"Let’s just skip that thought," she tossed over her shoulder, her words casual but firm. "I know you’re clearly trying to make jog with you."
Tryson watched her retreating form, stunned by her refusal.
He remained rooted in place, his mind grappling with the idea that soone—anyone—would so easily brush off his suggestion.
After all, he was Tryson Bliss, a man accustod to having his way, yet here was Angel, boldly defying him without a second thought.
As he stood there, montarily forgetting his intention to jog, Angel reerged from the kitchen, her water bottle in hand.
"You’re not going?" she asked casually, her tone neutral but her gaze teasing as if she already knew the answer.
Tryson snapped out of his reverie, his eyes narrowing slightly as he adjusted his posture.
"Oh, I was just about to head out," he replied, taking a step toward the door before her voice stopped him once more.
"Wait, Tryson," Angel called out, walking toward him with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Tryson frowned slightly, his curiosity piqued as he watched her approach. Then, without warning, she took a long sip of water through her straw—and promptly spat it onto him.
The cold spray hit him square in the chest, soaking his shirt and leaving him montarily stunned.
Tryson blinked, his lips pressing into a tight line as he processed what had just happened. Around them, the house workers froze in their tracks, their expressions oscillating between shock and poorly suppressed amusent.
Tryson shut his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to compose himself, but when he opened them again, Angel was right there, placing her hand on his stomach with deliberate slowness.
"What’s that for?" Tryson asked, his voice calm but edged with disbelief.
Angel tilted her head up to et his gaze, her lips curving into a playful grin. "What do you an? It’s a morning massage," she replied teasingly, her tone dripping with feigned innocence.
"A morning massage?" Tryson repeated, his voice tinged with skepticism.
"Yes, exactly. You don’t think so?" Angel said, her grin widening as she fluttered her lashes dramatically.
Tryson frowned, his expression caught sowhere between exasperation and amusent. "Wait a minute," he said, grabbing her hand to stop her from continuing.
Angel pouted in mock protest, her lips forming a perfect curve as she tried to pull her hand away.
"Moses," Tryson called out, his voice steady as he summoned the butler.
Moses appeared almost instantly, his composure impeccable despite the clear curiosity in his eyes. Tryson gestured toward his damp shirt.
"Moses, is there such a thing as a water massage on the body?" he asked, his tone serious despite the absurdity of the question.
Moses hesitated, his lips twitching as he fought to suppress a laugh. "I don’t believe so, sir," he replied evenly, though his gaze betrayed his amusent.
"You hear that, Angel? There’s no such thing as what you’re claiming," Tryson said, his voice soft but triumphant.
Angel freed her hand from his grasp, tilting her head with an exaggerated air of innocence.
"Well, then it must be because of the baby mood swings," she said with a shrug, her tone light but mischievous.
"Baby mood swings?" Tryson echoed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.
"Yes, really. You don’t think you’re that handso for to just do that, do you?" Angel retorted, her grin cheeky as she attempted to sidestep his question.
Tryson blinked, his expression a mix of bewildernt and amusent. "Wait, did you just call handso?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
Angel fluttered her lashes again, her grin widening. "What? You must be confused," she said with a teasing smirk before turning and walking away, clearly intent on ending the conversation on her terms.
Tryson watched her retreat, shaking his head in amazent.
"Did you hear that? She called handso," he said to Moses, who nodded in silent agreent, his face struggling to remain neutral.
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