Oops! My Whirlwind Tycoon Husband Is the Guy from That Night? novel Chapter 3

"Whoa, look at that! There's a total knockout over there. Drop-dead gorgeous!"

Inside the Rolls-Royce, the driver pointed Sonia out to Quentin’s assistant.-

His assistant looked up, his eyes widening in absolute shock at her top-tier beauty.

"She really is stunning."

He had followed Quentin into countless high-society events, surrounded by heiresses and socialites, but he had never seen a woman quite as beautiful as her.

She was overwhelmingly radiant, every glance and movement dripping with captivating seduction. The red fabric flared in the breeze, making her look like a brilliantly burning flame.

Like a literal siren out of a myth, impossible to ignore.

Quentin was famously cold, strict, picky, and entirely celibate.

He had been set up on at least eighty blind dates. Every single woman possessed a flawless face and a perfect figure, yet not a single one caught the boss's eye.

Sometimes, just hearing their name was enough for him to instantly reject them without even a meeting.

So this time, The Horton Matriarch refused to tell him which family the girl belonged to. She simply forced him into a blind date.

"She's so gorgeous," the driver mused. "Do you think Mr. Horton will go for her?"

The assistant watched the bold, crimson figure fade into the distance. "That's not the boss's type. He prefers demure, reserved women. Plus, he absolutely hates the color red."

The driver, a married man with plenty of life experience, countered, "A 'type' is just a fantasy. When you actually feel that spark, it doesn't matter who it is, you'll fall for them anyway."

"Want to bet?" the assistant challenged, supremely confident. "I bet the Boss's date today will flop harder than a lead balloon."

"I bet he seals the deal today," the driver replied.

Having worked alongside Quentin for years, the assistant believed he understood his boss perfectly. He was thrilled to take this bet.

"One thousand dollars. Whoever loses pays up. Deal?"

The driver trusted his veteran instincts. "Deal."

The two men stared intensely into the café, closely monitoring the outcome.

...

Quentin sat at booth number 6. Sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. Dressed in a white button-down and a black suit, his posture was impossibly straight. Bathed in a golden glow, he looked overwhelmingly powerful and refined.

While most people idled on their phones, Quentin had no such habit. In his spare time, he preferred to read.

A novel rested on the table, a classic titled Wuthering Heights.

His long, elegant fingers turned the page, and a line of text caught his eye:

Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you.

She had been incredibly responsive. Every caress from him had sent a thrilling tremor through her.

Pinned beneath him, she had been like a fragile petal battered by a storm, trembling, helpless, and achingly sweet. The sound of her soft cries had been so intoxicating it only drove him to push harder.

She had been completely marked by him.

They had stayed awake all night, completely exhausting themselves until eight in the morning in a haze of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

A sliver of sunlight had slipped through the curtains, casting a glow over her skin.

Just before Quentin finally closed his eyes, he had noticed a single dark mark on her.

Right on the curve of her right buttock was a small, perfectly round dark mole.

Her bare skin made that little round mole impossible to ignore. It was the kind of detail he couldn't stop looking at. It was intensely seductive.

That was the only clue she had left him.

If the mole had been on her face, he could have recognized her the moment they crossed paths.

But instead, it was located in the most inconvenient place imaginable. If he wanted to identify her, he couldn't just ask her to take off her pants, he'd have to make her strip down completely.

And he couldn't just casually ask a woman to undress.

It was an infuriatingly awkward spot.