The Man Who Never Looked Away novel Chapter 117

The crowded alleys had a chaotic, pulsing energy. Cramped storefronts lined both sides of the narrow street, their overlapping neon signs casting harsh red and green glows across the faces of pedestrians.

The smell of cheap street food mixed with the faint, sour tang of the gutters.

Lavinia walked slowly, sipping on a boba tea.

Passing a gaudy boutique, she stopped in her tracks.

The owner rushed out, taking one look at Lavinia's striking features, and immediately started pulling outfits off the racks, holding them against her. "Oh, honey, this would look stunning on you! And this one—very elegant!"

Lavinia ignored the modest dresses. She pointed straight at a distressed crop top and a pair of frayed hot pants in the corner. "I want that."

The owner blinked in surprise but handed them over.

Lavinia changed and stared at herself in the dressing room mirror. The shorts were scandalously short, highlighting a waist so slender it looked fragile.

"Girl, your legs are miles long!" the owner gushed enthusiastically. "Are you a model?" She quickly grabbed a pair of chunky sneakers and a flannel shirt to tie around Lavinia's waist.

Lavinia stared at her reflection. She looked like a complete stranger.

"I'll take it. I'm wearing it out," Lavinia said.

"What about your old clothes?" the owner asked.

"Throw them away."

"But these are designer labels!"

"Consider it a tip."

Lavinia walked out of the store. Spotting a street vendor, she bought a cheap baseball cap and pulled it low over her eyes, looking every bit the rebellious runaway teenager.

But it wasn't enough. She spotted a sketchy salon with a handwritten sign in the window. She pushed the door open.

The stylist rushed over, flipping through a book of color swatches, suggesting warm brunettes and soft caramels—safe, elegant colors.

Lavinia pointed to the most aggressive, bleached-out platinum blonde on the page. "That one."

"This? Are you sure?"

"Positive."

The cheap chemicals burned, but the stylist worked fast. In under an hour, Lavinia stared at her new platinum blonde hair. It wasn't actually trashy; it had a cool, edgy vibe that framed her face perfectly.

The stylist was thrilled. She held up her phone. "Miss, can I take a picture for our Instagram? I'll waive the fee!"

Charley didn't flinch. "Do it," he said coolly. "I'm paying."

The prep work took a few minutes. The cold swipe of the alcohol wipe sent a shiver down her skin. The tattoo gun buzzed to life, a high-pitched, menacing hum. Neither Lavinia nor Charley said a word.

She stared at the vibrating needle as it inched closer to her bare thigh. The second it was about to touch her skin—

"Never mind," she blurted out, jerking her leg away. "I don't want it."

Charley calmly stepped forward, plucked a temporary tattoo off the display wall, and handed it to her.

"If you're going to act tough, at least commit," he deadpanned. "Slap this on. Consider it a placeholder."

Lavinia glared at him, refusing to take it. He didn't push it, just stood there holding it out.

The owner laughed. "Your guy has the patience of a saint."

She took the decal from Charley and expertly applied it to Lavinia's thigh. When she peeled the paper away, it left behind a small, vibrant blue ocean wave crashing into white foam. Lavinia stared at it in silence.

Charley picked up the boba tea she had left on the counter and pressed it into her hand.

"Playtime's over. You barely touched your dinner. Let's go get some real food."