Sorry, I'm the Final Boss Now novel Chapter 25

Ever since she was a little girl, Marguerite had loved anything that sparkled—gold, diamonds, the stars in the sky. Combined with her doll-like beauty and charming personality, she was a shining star wherever she went. So, her parents had nicknamed her Stella.

Not many people knew it, only family. Her brothers rarely used it; it was mostly her parents who called her that. Marguerite couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard it. Following the current timeline, it would have been fifteen years.

Hearing it now made her heart skip a beat. How did George know?

“Is your nickname Stella?” The man’s voice on the other end was clearer now, back to its usual refined and gentle tone.

Marguerite frowned. “What? Weren’t you just calling me that?”

George was scrambling out of her bed, struggling to control his ragged breathing as he straightened the sheets. He had only meant to lie down for a moment to take in her scent, but he’d been so exhausted he had fallen asleep. He hadn’t slept the night before, or the night before that, and his body had finally given out.

He was despicable, a pervert, just as he had been all those years ago. Waking from a deep sleep to her call, he had instinctively murmured the name he’d kept locked in his heart for over a decade, a name he had never once dared to say to her face.

He dug his fingers into the wound in his palm, the sharp pain helping him regain control. He shouldn’t have slept here. It was a complete violation of her privacy. And he couldn’t let her know about the dark thoughts he’d harbored for so long. It would terrify her.

His mind raced. “I’m on a video conference,” he lied smoothly. “One of my subordinates has a daughter named Stella. I was just greeting her.”

Marguerite blinked. “You’re still working this late? Well, can you come open the gate?”

So that’s what it was, she thought. It wouldn’t have made sense for George to know my nickname. And Theobald wouldn’t have told him. He can be a nag, but he knows where to draw the line.

“Of course. I’m on my way,” George said.

“What nickname?” Theobald, still standing by the car, asked curiously.

The gate slowly closed behind her. The walk from the gate to the living room was long, winding through a garden. George followed close behind, his shadow completely enveloping hers.

It was only then that Marguerite realized just how tall he was.

“How did you get so tall?” she asked, turning to look up at him.

Under the moonlight, his features were deep and strikingly handsome. He had a natural, commanding presence, an aloof air that felt untouchable. Yet the small, tea-colored mole on his nose was surprisingly alluring.

Theobald’s words echoed in her mind: Try to notice some of George’s good qualities.

Well, she’d already found one. George was seriously hot.