With no other choice, Cyrus had no choice but to leave.
Gordon strode into the pharmacy, instantly arresting the clerk's attention with his breathtaking looks. The man radiated such dazzling charisma that he might as well have been a red-carpet celebrity.
But his frosty gaze built an instant barrier, keeping everyone at arm’s length.
"A box of painkillers."
His voice was a deep, velvety baritone—smoother than a radio host’s.
"What kind of pain are we treating?"
"For menstrual cramps." He said it flatly, fishing a bill from his pocket and sliding it across the counter.
"Make it quick." Impatience edged his tone.
For some reason, the clerk felt a pang of envy for the woman who’d get those pills. This guy wasn’t just ridiculously good-looking—he was the whole package deal. Was it for
