He Lost Me to His Best Friend novel Chapter 385

The three women snapped their heads up.

The moment Veronica's eyes landed on Yardley, they lit up like sparklers.

It had been five years. He was just as striking as she remembered—no, he was even more handsome, more mature, exuding a raw, masculine authority. He wasn't dressed in his usual strict corporate attire. He wore a pale blue dress shirt paired with dark slacks, no tie, his collar unbuttoned, radiating an effortless, icy elegance. His face was set in a furious scowl, adding a dangerous edge to his aristocratic aura. He looked like royalty, the kind that demanded total submission.

"Yardley!"

Veronica and Sylvia called out his name simultaneously, both dripping with identical, sickening sweetness.

Yardley hadn't expected company. Seeing Veronica, he paused for a fraction of a second before giving a stiff, emotionless nod. He looked like a detached king acknowledging his eager subjects.

Veronica's heart hammered against her ribs. She had countless men throwing themselves at her feet, but just like five years ago, the only thing that excited her was Yardley’s freezing, dismissive arrogance. The colder he was, the more desperate she was to conquer him and bring him to his knees.

Quickly adjusting her expression, she offered a perfect, sympathetic smile and stepped right up to him.

"You look incredibly stressed, Yardley. But I completely understand."

She had openly humiliated him, flaunted another man in his face, and told him to get lost, over and over again. He was sick of it. Did he, Yardley Flynn, ever lack for female attention?

Right here, right now, was a woman practically throwing herself at him.

He stared at Veronica's gorgeous face and quickly placed her. Veronica Thorne. Daughter of the cemetery and funeral tycoon, Quentin Thorne. After her brother died in a racing accident four years ago, she had become the sole heiress, groomed to take over the empire. If Scarlett hadn't intervened five years ago, he likely would have married her.

He slowly took her in. She wore a sleek crimson slip dress, clutching a designer envelope bag. She was slender, her collarbone-length hair framing a face that was sharp, ambitious, and dangerously beautiful—like a rose covered in thorns.