NovelGoldChapter 177 No Rest For Revolver
He paused the video on the exact moment Natalie said, “Don’t let my man get the wrong idea,” and set it to
loop; the corner of his mouth curved upward.
His wife, Baron thought, was nothing short of dazzling.
Still, he'd have to tell Waylon later-the Stone family’s bodyguards were obedient enough, but their reflexes left
much to be desired. If he hadn't slipped his own men into their ranks to block the reporters in time, those
vultures would have rushed in, cameras flashing, and ruined the rhythm Natalie had carefully set, Jensen
admitting, in front of everyone, that he had taken advantage of Ms. Sunny for five years without giving anything
back.
The fragile white flower of yesterday had transformed into this sharp, striking woman; Baron's heart ached with
fierce tenderness.
“Revolver!”
Baron called in the head of Grant International Holdings‘ Ocean City branch, its local president, Revolver.
“Mr. Baron.”
Revolver entered with deference, standing respectfully before him.
Baron tossed the quarterly report across the desk.
“You'll keep running things here. | trust your ability and loyalty completely. I'm leaving.”
Revolver frowned.
“Mr. Baron, since you've call this way, at least take a look at your own holdings. The workload has become
overwhelming; | haven't had a single day of rest in weeks, I—"
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“Ah, con. You're alone; what do you need rest for? Not like me—I have to get nand cook dinner for my
wife and kids.”
“What?”
Revolver froze.
Cook dinner? What kind of thing was Mr. Baron saying? Baron didn’t care what he thought; all he wanted was to
hurry back.
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Natalie had been breathtaking in that mask earlier-stunning, almost sinfully alluring.
And the serpent tattoo winding around her wrist had stirred in him a strange urge to press his lips to it.
He needed to get back quickly, make dinner, serve her well; once she was satisfied, it would be her turn to take
care of him.
With joy bubbling in his chest and heat coursing through his veins, Baron strode out of Grant International
Holdings.
Meanwhile, Natalie had the driver stop when they passed a shopping mall.
Chris assumed she needed something and quickly asked, “Miss, do you have further instructions?”
“Have the others head back. You cwithto the mall.”
Natalie had thought of the two children at home.
Before, when she hadn’t known they existed, she could ignore such things. But now that she knew, she had to be
a good mother.
The twins were already four years old, and she had never bought them a single toy, never chosen a single outfit.
She knew Baron would never let them go without, but she wanted-needed-to buy something for them herself.
Chris saw her step out of the car and quickly waved the others off, keeping only his vehicle.
“Miss, I'll park. Wait forhere a moment.”
“Alright.”
Natalie didn’t object.
Chris drove off toward the underground parking lot.
Natalie's eyes fell on a children’s clothing boutique not far away.
The little princess dress in the window was impossibly cute, impossibly pretty.
She immediately thought of Susie’s round, cherubic face.
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Her expression softened, and she walked to the shopfront.
“Excuse me, can | get that dress in a size 120?”
She pushed the door open, her voice rising slightly.
Just then, Quincy, startled by the sound, turned her head-and her gaze locked with Natalie's.
Her eyes flew wide.
“Natalie? Is that you?”
Quincy hurried over, only to see up close that the woman merely bore a striking resemblance.
Her features were similar, but her beauty carried a sharp, untouchable edge-something the old Natalie had
never possessed.
“I'm sorry, | mistook you for someone else.”
Quincy apologized quickly, though her eyes couldn't tear themselves away.
She suddenly missed Natalie desperately.
Back when she hadn’t known Natalie wasn’t her biological daughter, they used to shop together often.
Natalie had been so dutiful, always making sure she had water when she grew tired, trailing patiently by her side
all morning with no complaint.
But after Sharon returned, Quincy never again felt the joy of strolling with a daughter.
Sharon only ever complained that she walked too slowly, that her taste was awful; beyond asking her for money,
Sharon had no interest in accompanying her anywhere, let alone buying her anything.
Before, Quincy hadn't thought much of it. But in recent days, she found herself missing those moments with
Natalie more and more.
Now, seeing this woman who looked so much like her, Quincy's eyes welled up.
“So much alike—so much! But she isn’t my Natalie. My Natalie died long ago in that fire.”
Her voice rambled, disoriented, her spirit drifting.
Beside her, the housekeeper, Lucy, quickly supported her.
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“Madam, you must be tired from shopping and mistaken her for someone else. Why don’t we head home?”
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