Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 105

Chapter 105 You Are My Fated One

Chapter 105 You Are My Fated One

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Margaret wasn’t delusional enough to think Cheiron’s razor-sharp observation had anything to do with some grand, romantic impulse. She wasn’t about to flatter herself.

Cheiron’s mother had been a C-class fernale. She’d volunteered for those spiritual power experiments just to measure up to his S-class father-and she’d died for it, cold and alone in a lab. That kind of tragedy, the kind where someone burned through their own life just to chase a rating, was the one thing guaranteed to get under his skin.

Phoebe popped black market pills to fake her way up the ladder and treated human lives like they were nothing. She’d stepped straight onto the one buried trigger he kept hidden deep. Of course, he hated drug-cheating females. It made perfect sense.

Still, the air in the room had gotten uncomfortably heavy. Margaret decided to cut the tension.

“Lord Jewett.” She drew his name out, leaning back in her chair, one brow lifting as a teasing edge crept into her voice. “If Phoebe walks away from this-which she probably will-she’s going to pin the whole mess on me. She killed Ardon without blinking. Taking me out would be nothing.”

She propped her chin on the back of her hand and gave him a playful smile. “You’ll have to protect me, you know.”

It was a throwaway line. A joke to lighten the mood.

Then Cheiron set his cup down..

He looked up, his gaze settling on her face with an unsettling steadiness.

“Of course, you’re my wife.” His voice was half a beat slower than usual, weighted with something that sounded almost like a vow. “I will protect you. Until the very last breath I take.”

No flourish. No embellishment. Just a simple statement of fact.

Margaret’s fake smile froze on her face.

She let out a dry cough and tried to yank the conversation back onto safer ground. She waved a hand, forcing out a breezy laugh. “Well, I’ve got to say, Lord Jewett-you always look so serious. Didn’t know you had a sense of humor buried in there.”

She reached for the coffee carafe. She poured herself more, hoping the simple motion would hide the awkwardness crawling up her spine.

Cheiron didn’t let her run. His eyes stayed fixed on her with that unnerving focus.

“I’m not joking.” His voice dropped. “Margaret.”

Not Ms. Greene, Just her name.

Margaret’s hand stopped mid-pour.

Cheiron folded his hands on the table, his posture immaculate, “I don’t know what this marriage means to you.”

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Chapter 103 You Are My Fated One

Margaret opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

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What did it mean? A hassle Central Brain had forced on her? A temporary shelter in a world she didn’t belong to? She’d never really stopped to think about it.

Her approach had always been to take things as they came, hit back at anyone who crossed her, and when it came to feelings… She caught herself clenching her fingers.

“A contract? A mandatory match from Central Brain? A safe harbor you can walk away from whenever you choose?” Cheiron said the words for her, quietly.

“But that’s not what it is to me. You are my fated one.”

He said it softly, but it landed with the weight of something immovable.

Before Margaret had come into his life, Cheiron had already been braced for the frenzy. He’d been ready for the crash.

Madness and death were the fate of every SSS-class male, and as the head of Central Hospital, he knew exactly how brutal that road was.

He’d seen too many of his own kind lose the fight, clawing at the last shreds of their sanity before turning into beasts with nothing left but the urge to kill.

He’d assumed that would be his ending too. Until Margaret. Until Central Brain matched him to her.

“You pulled me back from a death sentence.” Cheiron looked at her with an intensity that was almost unbearable. “You are the one who saved me.”

He wasn’t a man who knew how to dress his feelings up in pretty words. He was used to analyzing everything through data, through hard fact. But none of that seemed to work when it came to her.

“I might not be as smooth as Timothy. I don’t know how to make you smile.” His voice stayed slow, deliberate. “But when I say I will protect you until my last breath-I mean every word.”

She wanted to fire back something glib. Something like, “Well, Lord Jewett, your life’s worth quite a lot, isn’t it?”

But when she lifted her head and met those gray eyes-eyes full of something complicated and entirely unguarded-the joke died in her throat.

“Host! Help! I’m falling for Lord Jewett! Who could survive this!” Primo was shrieking in her head, setting off pink digital fireworks in her neural display.

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