The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 534

Franco stared down at the woman in his arms. She remained completely still for a long time, and his lowered gaze betrayed zero emotion.

He sat on the sofa, one hand cradling the side of Petty's face, the other gripping her hand securely in his own.

Suddenly, a warm dampness splashed against the back of his hand, dripping relentlessly. In no time at all, he felt the damp patch spreading across the shirt over his chest.

"Why are you crying?" He lifted her fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. "Are you worried about Abacus, or..."

The woman in his arms didn't answer.

A spring-like tenderness pooled in Franco's eyes, and he lowered his voice to a gentle murmur. "Okay."

He wiped away her tears with delicate precision as the sea breeze swept past, carrying his words away.

"I promise you."

He grabbed the bottle from the table, tilted his head back, and chugged heavily.

Her answer—she wanted to go to a place without him.

He was deeply satisfied with that.

Jay steered the speedboat closer to the yacht and told the man beside him, "Take the speedboat back. Keep your distance from this yacht."

With that, he hopped over the railing onto the larger vessel.

The helm was empty. He glanced up at the illuminated deck on the second level, opted not to dial Franco's number, and quietly slipped into the cabin to start the yacht's engines.

Once the yacht was docked, Jay stood watch in silence. When he finally heard movement from the stairs, he didn't turn his head, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Franco carrying Petty.

She was completely swallowed by his embrace, a blanket draped securely over her.

A heavy stench of alcohol washed over Jay as they walked past.

"What time is it?" Franco asked.

Jay didn't even need to check his phone. "Two-thirty."

The man hummed in acknowledgment and carried Petty toward Crescent Lake on the island.

It was perpetually spring here. The flowers bloomed and withered in endless cycles. A thin mist settled over the island, and the delicate purple blossoms blooming through the haze looked like something out of a dream.

The woman in his arms slept soundly. Her alcohol tolerance was abysmal, and the way she handled her liquor was entirely a game of roulette—sometimes calm, sometimes chaotic.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify