[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary Chapter 356: Ah! !

Iris snickered behind her, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Bryan, who clearly had a death wish, made faces at Grayson behind his back until Iris elbowed him in the ribs without even looking.

Neville glanced around at the interior.

This place was really big.

There was a sleek, low-slung piece of furniture in muted charcoal and cream that occupied the central lounge area. It faced a panoramic window that frad the ocean like a living painting.

There was a fully stocked bar gleaming under warm pendant lighting to the left.

Further in, the space branched out into what appeared to be a billiards room and a private dining alcove.

Then there were at least two more wings he couldn’t identify from where he stood.

The group settled into the lounge area, gravitating toward a long, curved sofa upholstered in slate-gray fabric that sat facing the panoramic ocean view.

But Neville had no ti for breathtaking views.

The mont he sat down, he turned to Grayson.

"You know sothing," Neville said, certain.

Grayson, who had just casually taken Neville’s hand in his own upon sitting—threading their fingers together as naturally—looked at him innocently.

"They were just ssing with you," he said.

"That’s not the answer."

"There’s nothing to worry about." Grayson smiled and said as his thumb traced a slow, absent circle against Neville’s knuckle. "Don’t you have a sharp mory? If sothing happened, wouldn’t you rember it?"

Neville opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. His brow furrowed.

Did he have a sharp mory?

He wanted to say yes. In most situations, his mory recall was sharp—nas, dates, numbers, recipes.

But there were just those monts, weren’t there?

mory gaps.

Small, annoying blind spots where sothing had slipped through the cracks of his attention.

Still. If he was being honest, compared to Grayson—who had entire periods of ti that simply didn’t exist in his mory—Neville’s occasional forgetfulness was nothing.

He pressed his lips together and decided not to push it.

"Fine," he muttered, but his tone carried the distinct flavor of I’m letting this go temporarily, not permanently.

Grayson, wisely, did not smile. But the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he wanted to.

With no answers forthcoming, Neville resigned himself to waiting for the rest of the guests to arrive. It seed they had co a little too early. The estate felt emptier despite the chattering since it was really big.

Then Neville noticed Colonel Vane.

This officer had been trailing their group silently the entire walk—so quietly that Neville had nearly forgotten he was there.

Now, Colonel Vane sohow separated from them in the entrance without a word. Neville saw him thodically sweeping through the place.

anwhile, Iris, Bryan, and Sarah had already made their way to the bar.

The three of them perched on the chro-topped barstools, drinks in their hands. It seed that this was not their first ti tinkering in the high-end liquor selection.

Their chatter was echoing, highlighted by Sarah’s distinctive laugh and the clink of ice against glass.

Which left Neville and Grayson alone on the sofa.

Together.

Holding hands.

In an open room.

Neville blinked his eyes, heart pounding. He glanced down at their intertwined fingers. Grayson’s hand was large and warm against his, their palms pressed together so naturally.

The two of them were sitting close enough that their shoulders touched despite the huge space on either side.

Heat crawled up the back of his neck and blood across his cheeks.

Then—

Clack.

The sharp and crisp sound of hard balls colliding cut through his spiraling thoughts.

Neville’s head turned toward the sound, his blush montarily forgotten as confusion replaced embarrassnt.

There were already other people here.

The billiards room was set deeper into the estate. It was partially screened by a half-wall and an arrangent of tall, potted blue ferns that created a visual barrier from the main lounge.

Neville squinted past the greenery and made out three figures arranged around a regular-sized pool table bathed in warm overhead light.

He imdiately recognized Julius Seaton standing at the far end of the table. He had a chalk cube in hand, studying an angle.

Beside him, leaning against a cue stick with the loose-limbed ease, was Pete Rowan. He t him before in the cha Research Institute.

His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms, and he was watching Julius’s shot with the relaxed attentiveness of soone keeping score purely for amusent.

And then there was the third man.

Neville’s gaze was on him, and he held his breath.

The man wasn’t playing, but he sat on the edge of a high stool near the table, one ankle crossed over his knee. He was watching the ga with idle interest while waiting for his turn.

Even in that casual posture, he was striking. Not striking the way Grayson was—all sharp lines and restrained power—but striking the way a painting was.

Ethereal. Delicate.

The kind of beauty that made you blink twice because your brain needed a mont to process that a real human being could actually look like that.

Neville frowned slightly.

He looked familiar. Where have I seen him before?

"Would you like to say hello?" Grayson asked, already beginning to rise.

"Yeah, sure."

As they approached the billiards room, the third man’s features beca increasingly clear.

His platinum blond hair caught the light like spun glass. Honey-gold eyes set beneath lashes so long they cast actual shadows on his cheekbones.

A face so perfect, it looked unreal.

Then, recognition hit Neville.

"Ah!"

He stopped mid-step, his free hand flying up to point at the third person.

"Zero!"

Chronos raised his head upon hearing his stage na. His honey-gold eyes found Neville’s face. Then, Neville’s finger was pointing directly at him with zero social grace.

Then a professional idol smile spread on his features.

Warm and effortlessly charming.

There was just enough mystery in that curve of his lips to make you feel like he was sharing a private joke with you and you alone.

Neville’s brain short-circuited.