Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 256

Chapter 256 Dual Comfort

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“Ms. Greene, you had quite the scare at the Cabinet today.” Tyrone’s voice dropped to a low, almost purring tone, the words drawn out. “As your subordinates, we feel… obligated to offer some comfort.”

“Comfort?” Margaret let out a short laugh. “And how do you propose to do that?”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Quentin moved.

He stepped around the sofa, leaning down in one fluid motion. Strands of his white hair brushed against Margaret’s cheek, carrying the clean scent of shower gel. Without offering any explanation, his crimson eyes locked onto hers with stark intensity. His fingers came up to cup her chin, his gaze dropping pointedly to her lips.

The playful light in Tyrone’s eyes vanished. His hand shot out, clamping around Quentin’s wrist and wrenching it away.

“Where are your manners?” Tyrone’s voice turned hard. As he swiveled back to Margaret, the charming smile instantly reappeared. “Ms. Greene, ignore him. He’s being brutish.”

Quentin twisted his arm free. A palpable wave of menacing pressure radiated from him, directed solely at his twin. “Back off.”

“You back off.” Tyrone stood his ground, a barrier between them.

Watching the two identical faces square off right in front of her, Margaret could only laugh in sheer exasperation.

“If you’re going to fight, take it outside. You’re giving me a headache.”

Both men froze mid-glare.

Seizing the moment, Tyrone captured her hand. His thumb stroked the back of it as he bent closer, his warm breath ghosting over her ear. “No fighting. We came together, Ms. Greene. It’s only right we… attend to you together.”

The implication of his words hung heavily in the air.

Quentin didn’t object. He closed in from the other side. True to form, he bypassed conversation entirely, dipping his head to claim her lips.

His kiss mirrored his nature-hard, direct, unforgiving. The moment their lips met, he bit down on her lower lip, a sharp, almost punitive nip.

Margaret gasped at the sudden sting, hands coming up to push him away. But Tyrone was already there, his palm cradling the back of her head.

“You’re hurting her. The words were a cold accusation. Tyrone shouldered Quentin aside, and in the brief second Margaret drew breath, his mouth covered hers.

Where Quentin was a relentless assault, Tyrone’s approach was all cunning seduction. He coaxed her defenses apart piece by piece, a master of tantalizing friction and drawn-out tension.

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Chapter 256 Dual Comfort

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Quentin stood watching, a storm of emotion churning in his crimson eyes. His hand shot out, gripping the back of Tyrone’s neck and yanking him backward. Without a word, he reclaimed his place, his mouth descending on Margaret’s once more.

And so the silent battle continued, a relentless push and pull where neither twin would concede an inch.

Trapped between them, Margaret felt lightheaded. Shove one away, and the other immediately took his place. The two men, with two identical faces and two distinct and overwhelming presences, alternately stole her breath.

Finally, her chest heaving, she brought both hands up, clamping one over each of their mouths.

“Enough. That’s plenty,” she managed to say,

breathless.

Tyrone licked his lips, smiling like a fox who’d gotten into the henhouse. “As long as you are satisfied, Ms. Greene.”

Quentin said nothing, his burning gaze fixed on her kiss-swollen lips, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

“Out.” Margaret pointed firmly at the door.

Knowing better than to push their luck, the twins withdrew, one after the other. Just before the door shut, Tyrone couldn’t resist a final, smooth, “Good night, Ms. Greene.”

Silence reclaimed the room. Margaret touched her burning ears, muttering a curse under her breath.

The next morning, two heavy-duty hovercars pulled up outside the imposing edifice of the Imperial Female Protection Center.

Ryan and the Aegis Squad disembarked first. These hardened veterans, forged in the fire of countless battles, didn’t spare a glance for the building’s security. They fanned out with lethal precision. The sight of fully-armed S- and A-class males, radiating menace, was enough. The Center’s normally swaggering guards shrank back into corners, suddenly meek as mice.

Margaret stepped out, clad in a tailored black trench coat, her hair loosely tied back. The sound of her military boots hitting the pavement was crisp. Tyrone and Quentin fell into step behind her, flanking her

like twin shadows.

“Which floor for Irene?” Margaret asked,

“Thirteenth. The Customer Service Supervisor’s office.” Tyrone checked the location on his Holo-bracelet, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Though she’s not there now. Conference room. Judging by the security feed… seems she’s hit a snag.”

Without breaking stride, Margaret walked into the grand lobby. “Let’s see.”

The door to the thirteenth-floor conference room was slightly ajar.

Even from down the hall, a shrill, angry voice carried out.

“Irene, who the hell do you think you are? A slum rat like you, daring to bypass me and submit a funding

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