Sorry, I'm the Final Boss Now novel Chapter 21

Marguerite Lopez had slept like the dead, so deeply she hadn't even managed to shower first.

When she finally woke and rolled over, it was to a room so pitch-black that not a single sliver of light penetrated the gloom.

Has this place been upgraded with smart-home features? Marguerite groggily wondered, thinking the curtains must have closed automatically when they sensed she was asleep.

She stretched out an arm, fumbling around for her phone. Her fingers finally brushed against its cool surface near the pillow. She brought it close and pressed the button, the screen flaring to life: 4:01 PM.

Marguerite’s eyes flew wide open, her mind snapping into focus.

Unbelievable. Had she really slept until four in the afternoon the next day?

She had several messages.

Northpine Wraith: [I had the clothes you bought yesterday delivered to the house. If you need anything else, just have Anna pick it up.]

[I’ll buy the house next door as soon as I can. Call me if you need anything.]

[Mr. Spencer is also one of my investors. He's a good guy, and he's not into women, so you don't have to worry.]

Waking up to such juicy gossip made Marguerite’s eyes light up.

Not that she’d been worried in the first place. She generally trusted George’s character, and besides, rivals like them were bound to just get on each other's nerves. Last night, she’d practically fallen on top of him, and he hadn’t even offered a hand.

[George likes men? For real? Spill!]

No wonder his Wikipedia page was completely blank when it came to his dating history.

Theobald’s reply was almost instantaneous. [You're finally awake! Any longer and I was about to call an ambulance.]

Raising her arms for a long stretch, she turned to finally take in the room. Last night, she’d been so exhausted she had simply stumbled into her old bedroom out of habit, seen the bed was made, and collapsed.

Only now did she realize it hadn't changed much at all. It was spotless, the decor still in the same style she had loved years ago. The plush bedding was a fresh, light green. It looked like George had kept it as a simple guest room all this time.

Opening her door, she saw that the room across the hall was open, and a figure in white caught her eye.

Marguerite walked over and knocked lightly on the doorframe. “George? You’re not at work today?”

The room had been a study before, and it clearly still served the same purpose.

The handsome man himself sat at a desk, wearing a slim-fit white shirt that showcased the lean lines of his arms. He seemed to be working, his focus on his laptop.

At the sound of her voice, George turned his head, and his warm, gentle gaze landed on her.