A sharp ring echoed through the apartment, interrupting the heavy air of indulgence. Lumian glanced at his phone, the name "Michael" flashing on the screen. With a smirk, he answered.
"Took you long enough," Lumian said casually, reclining against the couch.
"I don't know what's taking so long, but is the bastard even doing anything suspicious?" Michael asked, his impatience barely masked.
Lumian exhaled, stretching his free arm over the back of the couch. Angela lay sprawled across his lap, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion. He dragged his fingers through her damp hair absentmindedly.
"Nothing too concrete yet," Lumian lied smoothly. "Give it a little more time. If he's up to something, we'll catch him red-handed."
There was a pause. Michael was obviously reluctant.
"Are you sure? Feels like we're wasting time—"
Before he could finish, Lumian raised his palm and brought it down onto Angela's bare, soft ass. The loud smack echoed through the room.
