Chapter 153

He'd ask him when he had the chance. His left hand grazed the cool, black prayer beads on his right wrist.

Theobald typed: [What show? I'll check it out.]

Marguerite rolled her eyes.

She replied: [It's a show only for cool girls. Not for you. You are dismissed!]

Northpine Wraith: [???]

She also had a message from Aaron.

[How's Mr. Spencer? It's going to hurt a lot when the anesthetic wears off.]

Reading that, Marguerite frowned. That was true. Would George be in too much pain to sleep tonight?

She typed a reply to Aaron: [He's doing okay. Don't worry.]

Aaron, also awake, replied instantly: [Sigh, it's all my fault. If I hadn't insisted on apologizing, Mr. Spencer would never have gotten hurt!]

The kid was spiraling into a late-night guilt trip.

Marguerite typed: [Don't overthink it. Life is full of ups and downs. When you're feeling down, just think about good food!]

Aaron's reply came back, and his mood had instantly lifted. He was no longer spiraling, just thinking about ordering takeout.

After a while, the bathroom door clicked open.

Marguerite pocketed her phone and looked up. The handsome man was now wearing a short-sleeved pajama shirt, which revealed the powerfu lines of his arm muscles. The bandage on his right forearm did nothing to diminish the sense of strength. The top button of his shirt was undone, offering a tantalizing glimpse of his pale, elegant collarbones. He must have washed his hair, because it was still damp, clinging softly to his forehead. He looked harmless, a stark contrast to his usual aloof, sophisticated demeanor.

"It's late. You should get some sleep," he said, his voice gentle.

"Your hair isn't dry yet. Do you need help?" Marguerite asked with a smile. Her mom always said that going to bed with wet hair would give you a beadache, Besides, she was supposed to be taking care of him, but so far, he had been the one taking care of her eyes.

She expected him to refuse, but this time, he didn't. Instead, he replied in his refined

voice, "That would be very helpful, thank you."

Marguerite was more than happy to be of service to a handsome man. "Okay, you sit on the sofa, and I'll go get the hairdryer!"

The man sat down, his posture perfect, accentuating the lean line of his waist, Marguerite stood behind him, holding the hairdryer, but her eyes kept drifting uncontrollably toward the collar of his shirt Her cheeky eyes, it seemed, had a mind of their own.

Warm air blew over his head as the girl's soft fingers ran through his hair. George's body went completely rigid. The heat that had just subsided came rushing back. He had wanted to refuse, but he couldn't.

He subtly adjusted his posture and tilted his head slightly. In the reflection of the glass balcony doors, he could see the girl staring at his collar.

A thrill shot through him. He was sure of it now. Stella was genuinely interested in his body.

A rush of adrenaline, born from pure pleasure, surged through him, and he blurted out, "Marguerite, do you want to touch it?"