Sorry, I'm the Final Boss Now novel Chapter 22

Her almond-shaped eyes, heavy with sleep, were soft and languid. Her long hair tumbled over her shoulders, with a few adorable stray strands sticking straight up.

Even after watching her all night, he still couldn't get enough.

Eleven years. No one knew how much he had missed her.

“I got off work early today,” he said with a gentle smile.

Marguerite ambled inside, only noticing the dark circles under his eyes when she got closer. He didn’t look like he’d slept well.

She had to admit, his smile was devastatingly handsome. The small, tea-colored mole on the bridge of his perfectly straight nose seemed to shimmer, creating a look that was both ascetic and alluring. She’d never noticed in high school; her head had been buried in books.

“Oh, right. Where are the clothes Theobald dropped off for me? I need a shower.”

George looked at her, his expression calm. “They should be in the closet. I had them put away for you.”

A smile touched Marguerite’s lips. “That was thoughtful of him. By the way, are you into men or women?”

The question came out of nowhere, and George clearly couldn't keep up with her train of thought. He frowned slightly. “Hm?”

Marguerite blinked. “It’s fine, I’m very open-minded. I’m just asking so I’m mentally prepared. I don’t want to be shocked if you bring a guy home.”

She had always been refreshingly blunt. George knew that about her.

“Women,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

Marguerite’s curiosity was piqued. “Then how come you haven’t dated anyone in all these years? You’re an old man, pushing thirty!”

George fell silent.

She didn’t have to be that blunt.

George stood up as her figure vanished from the doorway. He walked to the hall and saw her disappear down the staircase. He then crossed to the room opposite his—the one she had used—and looked out the still-open window.

Her silhouette was slender and beautiful. Her long hair was tied in a high ponytail that danced in the gentle breeze, making her look vibrant and full of life. A man in a tailored black suit, wearing a string of dark rosary beads on his wrist, got out of a car and opened the passenger door for her. She slid in gracefully.

The Bentley pulled away smoothly, winding its way down the mountain road until it disappeared from sight.

George raised his long, elegant hands and drew the curtains closed. He walked to the door, shut it, then returned to the room. He took off his glasses, shed his suit jacket and shoes, and with one hand, pulled back the covers and lay down on the bed.

His tall, lean frame sank into the mattress. He closed his eyes, his long, thick lashes trembling as he greedily inhaled the lingering scent of her on the pillow.

Only in this moment did it feel real—the girl he had longed for had truly come back.

Stella… she smells so good…