The Ex-Wife's Triumph novel Chapter 188

Kingsley was jolted awake by a dull, throbbing pain in his head. When he opened his eyes, the crystal chandelier on the ceiling sent a wave of dizziness through him.

The hangover hit him with ferocious intensity. He lay there in stunned silence for half a minute.

His fingers unconsciously grazed the space between his eyebrows. Remembering something, the corner of his mouth twitched in self-mockery, leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth.

After a cold shower, his chaotic mind finally cleared a little.

He walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe and looked up to see Peter, fully dressed and sitting leisurely on the bedroom sofa, toying with a metal lighter.

"Hi there," Peter started, looking at Kingsley with playful surprise. "That stuff is magic. Your face isn't swollen at all anymore, and the bruises are pretty much gone. Just a little purple by the corner of your mouth, you know, for effect."

Kingsley didn't respond. He glanced at him, his voice still rasping with sleep. "You haven't left?"

"You were drunk as a skunk. If I left, who would collect your corpse?" Peter raised an eyebrow, his tone loose. "Naturally, I stayed to 'take care' of you."

"You expect me to believe that?" Kingsley tossed his towel onto the armrest of the sofa and tightened the belt of his robe, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

Peter chuckled low, offering no defense. He switched topics. "Going to the office today? If you are, I'll hitch a ride. If not, I'll call my driver."

"Checking my schedule?" Kingsley's tone cooled as he headed for the door.

"Overthinking it," Peter added from behind him. "I just don't want to waste time waiting for a car."

"Not going." By the time the words landed, Kingsley had already disappeared through the bedroom door.

About an hour later, there was a knock on the office door. Emma's voice drifted in. "Boss, someone sent you flowers!"

Before Lucy could speak, Emma walked in holding a massive bouquet of red roses. The petals were lush and vibrant, incredibly eye-catching.

Lucy looked up from her blueprints, her gaze sweeping over the roses. She reached out and plucked a card from the bouquet. It bore only one sentence: [Five years, four months, and eighteen days of knowing you.]

She held the card, her expression unmoved. Calmly, she tucked it back into the flowers and said to Emma, "Send the flowers back to Sherwood Group. Also, order a bouquet of white chrysanthemums and have them sent over."

"White chrysanthemums?" Emma's heart skipped a beat. The implication hit her instantly—white chrysanthemums were traditionally for funerals. She didn't ask questions, simply nodding immediately. "Okay!"

As she turned to leave, she couldn't help but give Lucy a covert thumbs-up. That level of calm ruthlessness was impressive.