Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32 Morning at Eight

Chapter 32 Morning at Eight

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A plump little robot stood by the dining table, its mechanical arm balancing a tray as it carefully set two plates down. On the plates were warm sandwiches and two cups of hot milk.

Someone was already sitting at the table.

Cheiron had on a light grey turtleneck today, the knit soft and fine, clinging to his frame in a way that showed off his broad shoulders and lean waist. A simple silver Holo bracelet circled his wrist, giving off a quiet sheen. Morning light poured through the floor to ceiling windows, and the whole scene felt peaceful, like something out of a painting.

Margaret paused at the bottom of the stairs and watched him for two seconds.

Good looking. No two ways about it. Cheiron’s looks weren’t the sharp, intimidating kind. They were gentle, understated, almost restrained, just pleasant to look at.

But after those two seconds, her eyes drifted to the table. In front of Cheiron sat a sandwich and a glass of milk. The seat beside him had the exact same thing, laid out neat as a pin.

Margaret didn’t hesitate. She walked over and dropped into the chair.

“Morning?” she said.

Cheiron looked up, his mouth twitching at the corner. “Morning. You’re punctual.”

Margaret bit into her sandwich and mumbled a vague “mmhm.”

“We said 8:30, and you came down at 8:00.” Cheiron took a sip of his milk, his voice still flat as ever.

Margaret’s chewing stalled for a beat. She shot him a look, trying to gauge whether that was a real compliment or just him being a sarcastic ass. But his face was as blank as ever, and his eyes weren’t giving

up any secrets.

Whatever. Not worth losing sleep over.

She went back to inhaling her sandwich and polished off half of it in record time. Then she washed it down with a solid third of her milk in one long gulp.

Cheiron glanced her way but held his tongue. He just carried on with his breakfast at a leisurely clip, moving slowly, taking dainty bites, all elegance and no hurry,

Margaret finished her share and rested her chin on her hand, watching him eat. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to be.

“Oh my god, a beautiful man eating!” Primo gushed inside her head.

Margaret rolled her eyes internally, “Can you act normal for once?”

“Watching a hottie eat is its own kind of enjoyment. Don’t you think?” Primo shot back without a shred of

shame.

Margaret couldn’t be bothered. But she had to admit, Cheiron did look good eating. He had this effortless

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Chapter 32 Morning at Eight

grace. He was just way too slow,

Margaret had always been impatient. Back in her original world, she couldn’t stand those rule following. by the book types who did everything step by step because she was the complete opposite. She was lazy and impulsive, did whatever popped into her head, and hated being tied down.

But watching Cheiron now, she found she didn’t actually mind him all that much. Maybe it was because he was good looking. Or maybe because he’d taken her in. Either way, she could tolerate him.

Cheiron finally finished the last bite of his sandwich and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his movements unhurried as always.

Margaret glanced at the clock in the living room. 8:28,

She clicked her tongue internally.

Cheiron stood up and looked at her. “Let’s go.”

Margaret got up and followed him toward the door. Blanc rolled over from somewhere, its round body stopping at the doorway, its electronic eyes curving into two little crescents. “Take care. Be safe on the road. Come back soon.”

Cheiron nodded and pushed the door open. Margaret followed behind.

Once they were outside, Cheiron stopped and turned to her. “Wait here. I’ll get the car.”

Margaret nodded and stood there obediently. Cheiron turned and headed toward the garage, his steps still unhurried.

She watched his figure disappear around the corner, then shifted her gaze to the flower bed across the way and stared into space.

Suddenly something caught the corner of her eye.

A figure appeared at the intersection down the road. A pale pink dress, long silky hair, a light and graceful walk. Margaret didn’t even need to look twice to know who it was.

She watched the figure get closer and noticed something. Phoebe’s eyes were locked right on her, and there was nothing hidden in that gaze, Pure disgust, contempt, and a barely concealed dose of hostility.

Margaret raised an eyebrow, Well, well. Dropping the act, are we?

Just as she thought that, the second Phoebe got close enough, her face shifted like a switch had been thipped. Right back to that soft, innocent, wounded expression.

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