They Beg For My Return (Camila Jackson) novel Chapter 113

Chapter 113 Target Harry

Chapter 113 Target Harry

Camila lay in bed, nestled among the fluffy pillows. The soft glow from the bedside lamp danced off the ring on her finger. She ran her thumb over the band, feeling where Giovani’s warmth seemed to linger, like a ghost of his touch. She curled her fingers close to her chest, the silk of her nightgown bunching up in soft folds at her waist.

A faint smile played on her lips, as sweet as a rose dipped in honeyed wine, unfolding quietly in the misty night. Meanwhile, in another bedroom, the frosted bathroom glass was fogged up with steam. Through the haze, a man’s back muscles rippled with his movements, like rugged mountain ridges. Water droplets clung to his chiseled frame, catching the light like little crystals under the warm glow.

Time slipped by unnoticed until the glass door creaked open, releasing a wave of cedarwood and heat that filled the room. He stood with a towel loosely around his waist, water dripping from his hair and splashing onto his chest before trickling down his sharp abs.

He had this raw, magnetic charm that added a bit of wild allure to his otherwise cold, composed vibe.

Giovani grabbed a towel and started drying his hair, looking relaxed and in control. Every move he made was smooth and confident, a mix of sophistication and sex appeal. Done, he tossed the towel onto a nearby chair.

Barefoot, he padded across the plush carpet, the steam fading behind him, leaving only his commanding presence that seemed to make the air heavier.

He walked over to the window and casually pushed aside the heavy curtains. Leaning back into the soft cushion of the rocking chair, he crossed his long legs with a sharp, almost predatory grace. The chair creaked softly as it swayed with his movements.

His half–lidded eyes stared out at the rain, shadows from the downpour flickering across his skin. His gaze locked onto Harry, who was kneeling outside in the rain.

Harry was drenched, resembling nothing more than a soaked stray, his figure pitiful and utterly defeated.

Giovani’s eyes sharpened, his brows arching slightly as a faint smirk tugged at his lips. A glimmer of amusement sparked in his eyes, like he was watching a carefully staged joke.

To him, Harry’s self–punishing display–meant to win Camila’s forgiveness–was just absurd and laughable.

He reached for the cigarette box on the table, his slender fingers pulling out a cigarette. He lit it with ease, took a deep drag, and exhaled a stream of smoke that curled in front of his face.

The smoke gradually blurred his mocking expression. As he smoked, he lazily watched Harry’s “performance,” his whole vibe lazy but devilishly charming.

It was like he was the king of this world, casually toying with the mortals below. He only let his true emotions show when he was alone.

The cigarette burned out fast. As he stubbed it out, sparks flared briefly at his fingertips. His long, defined fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, the sharp sound breaking the room’s brief silence.

Suddenly, he stopped. His half–closed eyes slowly opened, revealing a pair of deep, icy sharp eyes. He murmured to himself, “Harry’s wasting his time. Let’s see how he handles a real challenge.”

With that, he picked up his phone, his fingers gliding across the screen as he dialed Turner. But the call went unanswered, the beeping echoing in the quiet room.

Giovani frowned slightly and redialed, only to hear silence again. On the third try, the call disconnected automatically. Glancing at the time on his phone–10 PM–Giovani knew Turner wasn’t asleep. If he wasn’t asleep, he just hadn’t heard the ring.

With that thought, Giovani didn’t rush. He set the phone down and kept sitting in the rocking chair, watching the storm rage outside, lightning flashing and rain pouring down.

*****

A sleek black Maybach sliced through the rain–soaked Seaside Road, finally stopping at the gates of Sancho University of Science and Technology.

Inside the car, the warm scent of sandalwood mixed with the faint jasmine fragrance from the girl’s hair. Turner glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Successfully unlocked!

She was nervously twisting her fingers, tears cinging to her lashes like tiny crystals. Her alcohol–stained white T–shirt clung to her thin frame, outlining her delicate shoulder blades.

Lucy turned to him and said softly, “Thanks for bringing me back.” Her voice was light, but she meant it.

Turner raised an eyebrow, his tone playful. “So, you really are a student, huh?”

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Chapter 113 Target Harry

Lucy pressed her lips together, her fingers curling slightly, like she wasn’t sure how to respond. She looked uneasy.

Seeing her quiet, Turner arched his brow again and added, “If you’re a student, you should stay away from bars. If I hadn’t shown up tonight, you could’ve been in big trouble.”

She lowered her head and murmured, “Mm.” She didn’t want to work at a bar, but the pay was good. Ever since her mom got fired by the Jackson family, she’d been trying to help out.

Lucy nodded slightly and said in a small voice, “I’ll head back now.” She reached for the car door.

“Wait.” Turner’s voice stopped her.

She froze and looked at him, confused. The next moment, Turner picked up an umbrella and handed it to her. Under the car‘ s interior light, the umbrella’s metallic sheen looked really nice.

Lucy blinked in surprise, then smiled gratefully. She took the umbrella and said, “Thanks.” Just as she was about to step out, she remembered and added, “Sir, how should I return this umbrella to you?”

“No need to return it.”

Her gaze fell on the “Maybach” logo on the umbrella handle, and she shook her head firmly. “This umbrella’s too expensive. I can’t just keep it.” Having grown up around the Jackson family, she recognized luxury car brands and knew even the accessories weren’t cheap.

Turner’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Alright, tomorrow morning, I’ll come by to pick it up myself.”