'!'
"N-no!"
Seleyena's hands instinctively rose to her face, trying to cover her eyes as Cruxius let the last of his clothes fall to the side. He stood bare from the waist up, his skin pale under the stark hospital lighting. Her own chest rose sharply with the sudden intake of breath, the thin white coat pulling taut over the full swell of her breasts, the faint outline of her nipples already pressing through the fabric from the rush of adrenaline.
She peeked at him through the gaps between her fingers—just in case he pounced—while clearly contemplating whether she should scream or call security.
And yet… her breath caught the moment she saw him with nothing but underwear on.
His muscles were well-defined, lean but sculpted.
Not bulky, but defined—the kind of strength born from real strain, not vanity.
His shoulders were broad, waist narrow, and veins lightly traced down his forearms, twitching with slow tension.
But that wasn't what struck her the most.
It was the marks.
