The Beautiful Wife Of Mr Rowland novel Chapter 8

The sleek black car stopped in front of the famous VIP club bar in the city. As the driver got out, Denovon stepped down, fixing the buttons on his shirt and adjusting his sleeves. His face was cold and serious—as usual.

"Drive the car back," he said to the driver.

"Yes, sir," the man replied with a nod before driving off.

Denovon headed inside with heavy steps. Every step was confident, sharp, and full of purpose. Anyone who saw him would think he was walking into a battlefield, not a bar.

But then again, Denovon Rowland was always like that. Cold. Focused. And dangerously handsome.

He walked straight to the private section of the club where three men were already waiting. His closest friends.

The moment he entered the room, laughter exploded.

"Hey! Look who finally showed up after disappearing like a ghost," said Leo, the playful one of the group.

"You sure this is a bar and not a business meeting?" joked Mason, eyeing Denovon’s stiff posture.

"You came here to drink or sign a contract with your face?" Zayne added, laughing hard.

Denovon raised a brow, still standing. "Are you three done?"

"No, not yet," Leo grinned. "Tell us, Mr. Ice Face, did the blind date melt your heart or freeze the poor girl?"

"Probably scared her with that stone-cold charm," Zayne teased.

Denovon finally sat down and picked up a glass. “None of your business.”

"Oof, classic Denovon,” Mason chuckled. “Cold outside, colder inside.”

Denovon smirked faintly. “At least I didn’t show up smelling like cheap perfume like Leo.”

"Hey!" Leo acted offended. “That was expensive perfume, thank you very much!”

Everyone burst out laughing again.

“Anyway,” Mason leaned forward. “How was the girl?”

Denovon paused, then looked at them with a calm face. “Interesting.”

The room went quiet for a second.

"Wait… what?" Zayne said with wide eyes.

"Did Denovon Rowland just use the word interesting to describe a woman?" Leo gasped, holding his chest like he was having a heart attack.

Denovon took a slow sip from his glass, his face unreadable as always.

His friends leaned in, waiting—hoping—for him to say more about the girl.

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