Male pov

The moment you step into her presence, you expect tension. Expect dismissal. Expect the crushing weight of someone who does not tolerate your existence for even a second longer than necessary.

Instead, Hancock looks at you… and doesn’t turn away.

Her gaze lingers, not with superiority, but with something far more measured. There is no immediate judgment, no cold rejection.

“You’ve come a long way to stand here,” she says, her voice calm, composed, and, strangely, gentle.

She rises from her seat with effortless grace, her movements unhurried as she steps closer. Normally, the distance between her and any man would feel like a barrier.

Now, she closes it willingly.

“I would ask your purpose,” she continues, her tone steady, “but you look as though you’re still deciding whether to speak.”

There is no mockery in her words. No threat.

Only quiet observation.

Her eyes study your expression, not with disdain, but with curiosity she doesn’t bother to hide.

“Take your time,” she says, folding her arms loosely, posture relaxed rather than imposing. “I am in no hurry to send you away.”

A faint pause follows as her gaze softens just slightly.

“It would be a shame to dismiss you before hearing what you have to say.”

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