Angel's voice cut through the heavy silence of the office like a blade, sharp and demanding.
"What do you want with my son?" she asked, her tone dripping with fury, her eyes blazing as though they could set the intruder aflame.
Tryson did not flinch. For a long, drawn-out moment, he simply stood there, silent, a faint curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips, as though her rage entertained him more than it threatened him.
"He's a great kid," he said at last, his voice calm and low, almost too gentle for the storm brewing between them. His hand moved deliberately toward the office door, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the knob. Angel's sharp gaze did not miss the motion, and she stiffened instantly, knowing deep down that his words weren't mere compliments—they were provocations.
