Sorry, I'm the Final Boss Now novel Chapter 108

With the handsome man’s simple nod, a string inside Marguerite’s mind seemed to snap.

In an instant, tears streamed from her eyes.

“Aaron’s been through so much, and Jenny… God, those traffickers deserve to die! I want to kill them myself!” she sobbed, words tumbling out between cries. Fat tears splattered onto the sofa, turning the green fabric a darker shade.

“I miss Mom and Dad so much… I miss them…” Her voice grew thick with grief.

A good cry, a full release of emotion, was exactly what George had hoped for. He sat beside her in silence, simply watching her. But behind his glasses, his eyes were filled with an unmistakable, aching tenderness. He started to raise his hand to pat her back, but stopped himself, pulling it back with restraint. Instead, he just handed her the box of tissues.

Marguerite’s sobs grew louder until she let out a cry so forceful it produced a small snot bubble. The lingering shred of sobriety in her mind registered this, and she immediately covered her face. “God Almighty!” With her other hand, she blindly fumbled for a tissue on the coffee table. Oh, sweet heaven! She’d said she didn’t care about her image, but this was beyond embarrassing.

It was impossible not to smile at the sight of her hiding her face while secretly grabbing a tissue.

After wiping her nose, Marguerite looked up and saw the man struggling to suppress his laughter.

She shot him a glare and lifted her chin, her voice still raspy from crying. “Hmph! Go ahead and laugh. See if I care!”

Her eyes, still watery from her tears, and the tip of her nose, now a rosy red, were captivating in a way she didn't realize. The glare held no threat at all; it was like a kitten batting at you with its soft paws—ticklish, not intimidating.

He couldn't hold it in any longer.

A soft chuckle escaped his throat, his chest vibrating with the sound.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong.” The man, usually so aloof, tilted his chin up, his voice soft and pleasing, his pale, sexy Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that was utterly mesmerizing.

Marguerite blinked, then let out a haughty sniff. “That’s more like it.” She released his tie, but her heart rate didn’t slow. “I’m going up to bed. All that crying made me sleepy.”

George didn’t try to stop her. His voice was strained, unnaturally hoarse. “Alright. Goodnight.”

One glass of wine wasn’t enough to incapacitate her. She scurried up the stairs, leaving behind a faint, fresh scent. She didn’t see the unnatural flush on George’s face, nor the boundless desire that flooded his eyes.

Once her figure disappeared from sight, he looked down at himself, his voice turning cold. “Get a grip. Keep this up and one day you’ll really scare her away.”

His body didn’t listen.