Chapter 137 Lana’s Housekeeper
Liam had barely stepped foot in front of his house when he paused.
There, standing by the porch with the confidence of a man about to receive a Nobel Prize, was Dickson—but this was not the Dickson he knew. No hoodie, no wrinkled shirt, no stained jeans.
He was wearing a fitted dark navy suit with polished brown shoes, his usually wild hair neatly slicked back, and in his hand... a single red rose.
"What in God’s name..."
When Dickson spotted him, he immediately straightened up and began brushing off his sleeves like he had just wrestled a dust demon. He looked Liam dead in the eye and—like a damn steam engine—started ranting.
"Where the fuck were you, huh? I’ve been standing here like a damn statue for over an hour, you inconsiderate bastard!"
Liam groaned, already rubbing his temple. He couldn’t believe this man was dressed like he was going to propose to someone at a billionaire’s wedding—and still cursing like a sailor.
"Bro," Liam muttered, "now that you’re dressed like an actual human being, can’t you speak like one too?"
Dickson scoffed and straightened his jacket unnecessarily for the fifth time. "Eloquent your father," he shot back, nose raised like some spoiled duke. "Don’t let the suit fool you. I’m still me."
Liam stared at him blankly. "Yeah. Unfortunately."
Despite himself, Liam couldn’t help but be curious. He was the one who told Dickson to stop by so he could teach him about trading—just a simple casual plan. There had been zero mention of formalwear. Or roses.