His 181St Second (Laverne and Marina) novel Chapter 32

**Winds Carry Lost Promises by Asa Holt Vale**
**Chapter 32**

The driver had delivered his words with a bluntness that left Marina no room for protest. With a resigned sigh, she stepped out of the car, feeling the cool air wrap around her as she followed Daron into the elevator, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

As the elevator doors slid open on his floor, Daron wasted no time. He began unbuttoning his shirt, the fabric loosening with each flick of his fingers as he stepped inside.

Once they crossed the threshold, he tossed the shirt casually over the arm of the sofa, revealing a back that was a masterpiece of toned muscles—a sculpted expanse that radiated an undeniable aura of masculinity.

Marina felt her cheeks flush, her breath hitching in her throat as she stared in awe, completely captivated by the sight before her.

Suddenly, Daron halted in his tracks, and she nearly collided with him, her momentum carrying her forward until she skidded to a stop just in time.

He turned around, bending slightly as he flashed her a charming smile, his voice smooth and rich like dark chocolate. “Ms. Finley, you might want to wipe that drool off your chin.”

In a reflexive motion, she swiped at her mouth, finding nothing there. Realization dawned on her—he had playfully tricked her, and her face burned a deeper shade of crimson.

Daron chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that echoed in the room, before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving her to grapple with her embarrassment.

Meanwhile, the driver lugged some items upstairs, depositing them before gesturing to Marina. “Ms. Finley, you’ll find Mr. Zamora’s everyday wear in this walk-in closet. Feel free to put together an outfit.”

She nodded, a spark of determination igniting within her. “Will do.”

As she stepped into Daron’s closet, her expectations were blown away. Instead of a monotonous sea of gray and black suits, she was greeted by an array of styles and cuts, meticulously organized by color.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the vibrant pink section. A pink shirt paired with crisp white dress pants caught her fancy, and she couldn’t help but imagine how striking he would look in that ensemble.

Her mind raced, trying to visualize it, but she found herself at a loss. With his striking features and impressive physique, she was certain he could pull it off effortlessly.

Just then, Daron emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp from a quick shower, droplets glistening as they slid down his forehead and along his chiseled jawline.

He stepped into the closet to find Marina lost in thought, her fingers grazing her chin as she contemplated the pink outfit hanging before her. “Don’t even think about it!” he warned, a teasing note in his voice.

Bette had once insisted he wear that very set, but he had ignored it ever since.

Marina smirked, her lips curling mischievously. “I wouldn’t dare suggest you wear it, but dreaming about it isn’t against the law, is it?”

She turned to face him, her grin turning sly. “Is it?”

Daron, now shirtless, was rubbing a towel through his damp black hair, and the sight of him made her heart race.

His body was a flawless work of art, complemented by that godlike face—a perfect blend of strength and beauty. It was no wonder that experts recommended women take a moment to appreciate the allure of well-built men.

Studies showed that admiring such eye candy could even reduce mortality risk, igniting the brain’s reward center and releasing joy-inducing dopamine.

Marina wasn’t ogling; she was merely appreciating the beauty of the human form in all its glory.

After convincing herself of that, she locked eyes with Daron, no longer shying away from his gaze.

If he had the audacity to parade around without a shirt, he couldn’t very well complain about her staring. So she stared, her thoughts racing, ‘What’s stopping me? Many might look away, but not me. No harm, no foul.’

Daron shifted uncomfortably under her intense scrutiny and draped the towel across his chest. “Get out.”

“Of course, Mr. Zamora,” she replied, feigning bravado as she stepped out, her ears still flushed with warmth.

Daron dropped the towel and began dressing as Marina peeked her head back in, curiosity getting the better of her.

He quickly grabbed the towel again, using it as a makeshift shield.

“Mr. Zamora, the clothes I selected are right there on the rack,” she gestured toward the array of garments, her tone light.

“Got it,” he mumbled, his focus still on his attire.

Marina retreated to the living room, sinking into the plush sofa, a sense of satisfaction bubbling within her. She had finally managed to get back at Daron for his earlier teasing.

Feeling quite pleased with herself, she leaned back and absorbed the room’s decor, noting the subtle elegance of the layout.

She paused, hoping for a word of thanks, a small acknowledgment that would allow her to segue into asking about the figurine. But nothing came. ‘What a jerk!’ she thought, irritation flaring within her.

Marina tilted her head, meeting his gaze, hesitating before finally blurting out, “Mr. Zamora, would you consider letting me have this figurine?”

He remained silent, seemingly weighing her request.

She held his gaze, refusing to back down. She thought, ‘How have I never noticed how much taller he is than me before?’

Just when she was about to give up, his low voice broke the silence. “Why?”

Marina replied earnestly, “It’s tied to some wonderful memories from my youth.”

Daron’s response was almost immediate. “Same for me.”

“Er…” She scratched her head, momentarily stumped, searching for a clever comeback.

She remembered that his display case was filled with figurines from nearly every launch hero, including various pre-update versions.

Daron had to be an original player, an OG, but perhaps not the most skilled at the game.

She couldn’t justify asking him to give it up.

What frustrated her further was the realization that since the developers had overlooked her design, Daron wouldn’t have those specific details unless they had crafted a custom piece just for him.

Given his influence and the substantial amount he likely spent on in-game purchases, it made sense that he would have received something special like that.

But she couldn’t shake the thought, ‘Surely, it never crossed their minds to connect the actual creator with one?’

That frustration soured her expression, and she quickly abandoned the idea of trying to coax it out of Daron.

No, she would reach out to the developers directly. If they didn’t provide her with a copy, she wouldn’t let it slide.