Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 241

Chapter 241 Regency Council

Chapter 241 Regency Council

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Margaret pulled out a chair and sat down, her movements a little stiff. She couldn’t shake the feeling Cheiron’s “in no shape” line had been a deliberate dig, but his expression was so perfectly neutral she had nothing to call him out on.

Where’s Timothy?” She took a sip of the oatmeal.

“Set up a punching bag in the courtyard.” Cheiron settled back into his seat, his tone even. “He was in a pretty volatile mood this morning. Likely didn’t sleep well.”

Didn’t sleep well was an understatement. That golden fox’s nose was sharper than anyone’s. Baar’s scent had probably permeated every floor of the villa by now.

Margaret let the comment pass and focused on her breakfast,

After the meal, the two of them moved to the study.

Cheiron walked over and slipped a heating pad behind her lower back with practiced ease. The warmth seeped through the fabric, and most of the ache dissolved.

“Prince Darien went back and threw a fit. Had the vault security system replaced three times overnight.” Cheiron pulled up a holographic display, fingers sliding across the screen until the cabinet building’s energy consumption data flickered into view. “With the Royal Guards commander turning on him, he’s isolated now. But he won’t let it end here.”

“What else can he pull? The crown’s on Norman’s head, and the Royal Guards are in my hands.” Margaret leaned into the heating pad and found a comfortable position.

“The nobility.” Cheiron brought up a list of names. “Darien’s spent years building alliances in the council. He can rally the old-blood nobles and push to form a Regency Council on the grounds that Norman is too young. If that happens, your authority gets hollowed out. Starnet’s already split. One faction sees you as the savior of the royal family. The other’s being pushed by Darien’s paid agitators-they’re saying you strong-armed the Cabinet, that you’re planning to usurp the throne.”

Margaret let out a cold laugh. “Usurp? All these politicians ever do is spin conspiracy theories.”

Cheiron watched her, the light in his gray eyes softening. “I’ve already had the Academy of Sciences information security division step in to purge the accounts spreading malicious rhetoric. And on the Hurst Group’s end, Timothy’s poured in serious money to dominate the headlines across several major media outlets.”

Margaret murmured, “That boy. Never shy with his wallet.”

“He’s doing it for you.” Cheiron made the point deliberately, acknowledging Timothy’s efforts while quietly underscoring the motivation behind them.

He wanted his wife to notice him more, certainly-but he also wanted balance in this household, with no one person monopolizing her attention.

Out in the courtyard, the sound of the punching bag finally stopped. It was replaced by the sound of running water and a low, frustrated exhale.

1/2

14.09 Mon,

Chapter 241 Regency Council

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Margaret pushed open the glass door to the backyard. The morning sun was sharp against her eyes.

The heavy bag still swung on its chain. Timothy sat on the wooden swing, his long legs propped against the ground, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

His golden hair was soaked through with sweat, plastered in damp strands against his forehead. He hadn’t put on a shirt. A sheen of sweat clung to the hard, defined planes of his muscles, catching the light.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps. His blue eyes were rimmed red, faint traces of lingering hurt still clinging to the corners.

Margaret’s gaze dropped to his hands, hanging at his sides. The knuckles were swollen and raw, several spots torn open and weeping thin trails of blood.

“Did the Hurst Group go bankrupt?” Margaret walked over. “Can’t even afford a pair of gloves?”

Timothy sniffed and didn’t answer. He just held his injured hands out toward her.

He was doing it on purpose. An SSS-class male’s body wouldn’t break like this just from hitting a bag. Unless he’d deliberately dropped his spiritual power shielding and let his bare flesh slam into military- grade material.

Margaret sighed and pulled a napkin from her pocket, pressing it half-heartedly against the back of his hand. “Who told you to go at it without gloves?”

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