When Sarah Lacy stepped into the office, she paused.
The spacious, luxuriously furnished room was empty.
No assistant.
No staff.
And certainly no Mr. Seehorn, the chairman of Goldsand Plant.
“Mr. Seehorn?” Sarah called out cautiously.
Creak—
A hidden door swung open behind the large bookcase on the right wall.
From inside, Mr. Seehorn emerged—dressed in nothing but a loose silk robe, still tied haphazardly at the waist.
Sarah’s heart clenched with unease.
This wasn’t right.
None of this felt right.
“Mr. Seehorn, I’m Sarah Lacy,” she began directly. “I’m here to finalize the signing of our contract. When would be a good time for you?”
But the man didn’t answer at once.
He stared.
He openly stared.
His eyes swept over her face—her delicate brows, the phoenix-shaped eyes, the
