Why the Crocodile Tears (by Flower Sock) novel Chapter 361

But Gregory only said calmly, “Once your injuries have healed, I’ll ave someone send you back.”

“What?” Giselle’s expression changed for a moment, disbelief flashing across her face.

Gregory was really planning to let her go?

That was impossible. He was definitely lying right now. Perhaps he was planning to kill her in secret.

Giselle immediately became alert, her mind already playing out all kinds wilderness and murdered, her body dumped and left behind.

“If you’re worried, I’ll have Louie send you.”

Scowhere she would be driven out to the

Giselle froze for a moment, her expression turning awkward. “No need.

Icar

go back by myself.”

Gregory sat down on the couch, not sparing her another glance, as if he really had no intention of settling scores with her.

Giselle was utterly confused.

She hadn’t expected Gregory to actually let her off this easily. This didn’t quite match the rumors of the ruthless Prost King everyone spoke of.

But she didn’t have time to think further because Louie had just come down from the second floor. The two of them briefly met

eyes.

Giselle could feel the resentment in his gaze. She took a deep breath and looked away, turning to leave without looking back.

Louie clenched his fingers slightly.

“Tsk, and you say you hate her, but your eyes are practically chasing after her.” Adrian rolled out from the other elevator, maneuvering his wheelchair as he passed by Louie, half–smiling.

“They’re not!” Louie denied it, then took a long step down the stairs.

When he saw the dining table full of plate after plate of ravioli, he looked at Gregory in disbelief. “This is the food you said you were treating us to?”

“Yeah, eat it while it’s hot.”

Adrian stirred it with a spoon. “What is this supposed to be? Ground beef with

pasta?”

Gregory was speechless before he said expressionlessly, “Shut up and just eat.”

The sunlight slowly moved westward, shining through the osmanthus trees in the courtyard and casting warm, dappled light onto the couch in the living room.

“I can’t. I really can’t eat anymore.” Louie slumped in his chair, clutching his stuffed stomach. He didn’t want to touch anything involving dough and minced meat again for a long time.

Adrian wiped his mouth with a napkin, teasing, “Greg is so heartless. He gave his wife the only decent–looking plate of ravioli and made us finish off all the rejects.”

He’d seen Gregory on a video call with a middle–aged couple in the kitchen earlier. He’d been following their instructions step by step–mixing the filling, kneading the dough, rolling it out, and wrapping ravioli.

The business tycoon, who’d never cooked before, was wearing an apron, clumsily going through every step. It looked absurdly

comical.

“Wait, those were ravioli?” Louie blurted out in shock, earning a sharp glare from Gregory. He quickly shut his mouth.

He stood up and wandered around to digest. Noticing Gregory holding a book, he leaned in curiously. “What are you reading so

1/2

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify