Sorry, I'm the Final Boss Now novel Chapter 18

Whether he wanted money or another property, surely George would be satisfied with one of the offers.

The butler, standing nearby, was stunned.

This villa was worth two hundred million at most. He had heard about Starlight Group's new luxury development—the properties there started at a billion.

Only a fool would turn that down.

“I’m sorry. I have no intention of selling,” George said with a gentle smile, his refusal polite but firm.

The butler was speechless.

“Why not?” Marguerite asked, leaning closer.

The girl’s porcelain-like face was now just inches away, her radiant, almond-shaped eyes captivating.

George’s throat went dry. He picked up his teacup and took a sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He smiled faintly. “Why must you buy it?”

The handsome man’s eyes were deep and hazel, their true expression hidden behind his glasses.

Marguerite paused, then understood.

Her old rival was asking for his reason to sell.

Of course. He didn't need the money. For him, money was just a number, something that no longer affected his quality of life.

He was the same as he had always been. Seemingly gentle and refined, but incredibly difficult to get close to, with an innate coolness and distance. She didn't know how he was with others, but he had always been that way with her. Whenever they passed each other in the school hallways, their eyes would meet for a fraction of a second before he looked away, as if he couldn't stand the sight of her.

It made sense. There could only be one person at the top.

Noticing the girl’s slightly dazed expression, George allowed his eyes to linger on her for a few greedy seconds before adjusting his glasses and looking down. “I’ve grown accustomed to living here. I don’t want to move.”

Theobald instinctively fiddled with the rosary beads on his wrist, his brow furrowed.

This was going to be difficult. Problems that money couldn't solve were the hardest ones.

He looked at his sister.

Marguerite was at a loss.

The dark impulse surfaced. George clenched his fist, his nails digging into the wound in his palm. The pain snapped him back to reality. He tore his eyes away and replied with a single, noncommittal, “Hmm.”

A conversation required two participants.

Marguerite had tossed out a question, and the man’s response was a flat “hmm,” as if to say, Oh, not particularly.

Marguerite awkwardly rubbed her nose and pressed on. “On account of our old friendship, I’ll be honest with you. I time-traveled from eleven years ago. Do you believe me?”

Theobald’s eyes widened in shock. He couldn’t believe his sister had just blurted out the truth about time-traveling. He hadn't even told Anna.

The butler, standing to the side, frowned. This girl was spouting nonsense.

Only an idiot would fall for that.

“I believe you,” George said with a gentle smile.

The butler’s jaw dropped.