The Man Who Never Looked Away novel Chapter 312

Lavinia quietly closed the door and left.

The moment the latch clicked, Charley slowly opened his eyes.

He let out a sigh, slowly lifting a hand to run his fingers through his messy hair while staring at the ceiling.

She had slept in the guest room next door last night, and he hadn't slept well at all.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen; it was that annoying Zoey Wallace.

As soon as he answered, she started squawking like a duck. “Boss! Are you awake? Did you sleep well last night? Are you happy today?”

Charley wanted to hang up. He gritted his teeth and held back.

“What do you want?”

“Boss, you don’t sound right. Are you sick? Or did Lavinia not get divorced, and you're having a complete mental breakdown?”

Charley immediately moved to end the call, but he stared at the screen for a moment and ultimately held himself back again.

“Why are you calling me this early? What is it?” His voice was cold, deep, and decidedly ominous.

“Today is the five-year anniversary of the day you took me under your wing.” Zoey’s tone turned serious. “I was an orphan living on the streets. You pulled me out of the slums, sent me to school, and taught me how to handle myself and business. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

“...Noted. Stop rambling.”

Charley hung up the phone and casually sent Zoey a massive cash transfer.

The money was accepted instantly. Zoey replied: [Don't lose your mind, Boss. Lavinia will be yours sooner or later.]

Charley had to restrain himself for quite a while to avoid blocking her.

He rubbed his temples and turned to look at Nemo, who was lying by the window.

“I am not losing my mind. I am emotionally stable.”

“Yesterday, she was the one who mistakenly thought I was sick. I wasn't faking it.”

Nemo remained completely unfazed, not offering even the slightest reaction.

“You’re a single dog. Why am I even talking to you?”

Not just a single bouquet—a whole ocean of them. Pink snowy mountain roses, white lily of the valley, purple irises, bundled together with matching silk ribbons. They spilled from the sofa onto the table, and from the table down to the floor.

In the center of the floral arrangement sat an open black velvet display tray containing three pieces of antique jewelry: an emerald and diamond necklace, matching teardrop earrings, and a pigeon blood ruby ring. Under the lights, they sparked blindingly.

Next to the display tray stood a small acrylic sign with gold lettering that read: To my wife, Lavinia.

Standing behind the flowers was Larkin Locke. He was in a suit, holding a velvet box, a thin layer of sweat beading on his forehead.

Several of the receptionists were crowding around him, asking all sorts of questions. His face was bright red, and he just kept repeating one sentence over and over: “I'm just here to deliver this on behalf of Mr. Harper.”

Lavinia immediately turned around, intending to get back into the elevator.

“Mrs. Harper!” Larkin had already spotted her.

He jogged over, offering the velvet box to her with both hands. He lowered his voice, speaking rapidly. “Mr. Harper asked me to deliver these to your office. The flowers, the jewelry, and this.”

He pointed to the pigeon blood ruby ring in the box. “Mr. Harper specifically won this at an auction. He said it’s an heirloom from the Burmese royal family.”

The eyes of everyone in the lobby simultaneously locked onto Lavinia.