Dating the Bossy CEO Next Door
Chapter 69- Overindulgence?

Chapter 69: Chapter 69- Overindulgence?

So Morrison called Norton.

"Get Sean. We’re heading to the dojo."

His tone was cold and sharp, leaving no room for argument. Norton immediately knew something was seriously wrong. Usually, when Morrison was upset, he’d call one of them to spar it out—though that habit had faded over the years.

Back when Morrison had just taken over MOS Corp., he was less experienced, often overwhelmed by things he couldn’t control. Whenever he felt trapped by frustration with no outlet, he’d call Norton and Sean to train and vent together.

But now Morrison had grown into a powerhouse, a kingpin in the business world—few things could rattle him or knock him off balance. So that habit had quietly disappeared.

For him to suddenly call both Norton and Sean meant his mood must be utterly terrible.

Despite Sean often joking behind Morrison’s back, both he and Norton were fiercely loyal to him. When Morrison called, they always dropped everything and showed up.

The three of them tore through the spacious dojo, throwing punches and dodging blows until drenched in sweat, finally collapsing on the floor, utterly spent.

Morrison and Sean were fine—Norton wasn’t a pushover either.

But during one clash, Morrison’s punch just grazed Norton’s cheek, leaving a faint red mark. Afterward, Norton dabbed on some medicated oil and was good to go.

That night, Morrison went back to the Mo family home for dinner. No sooner had he arrived than his phone rang.

He flopped onto the sofa and lazily answered.

On the other end, Yuki was shouting,

"Morrison, what’s wrong with you? Why take your bad mood out on someone else? Look at what you did to him!"

"What did I do to him? It’s just a scratch on the face. No need to make such a fuss." Morrison replied coldly.

"And what business is it of yours? Who do you think you are, storming in here like that? If you admit he’s your man, I’ll apologize."

Yuki nearly got caught by his challenge. Just as she was about to admit it, she snapped herself back and angrily called him a lunatic before hanging up.

Morrison tossed his phone back on the sofa, feeling pitifully alone.

Even Norton had a woman caring for him—while he was left isolated.

Truth be told, Morrison wasn’t unscathed. Sean, that idiot, had accidentally kicked him in the right side of his abdomen. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, but after showering, he found a bruise. Stretching or moving his arm sharply pulled on the sore muscle and hurt quite a bit.

He wasn’t without women who cared for him. If he wanted, a crowd of them would be vying for his attention.

But he didn’t want any of them. He only wanted one particular girl’s care.

Thinking of that, he half-lounged on the sofa, lifting his shirt to reveal a firm, well-defined honey-colored abdomen. He flexed just enough to show off his abs and faint lines.

Taking out his phone, he snapped a photo of his belly—bruised spot included—and sent it straight to Lilian, who was out having dinner with dave Laurent and Karl.

After sending the photo, Morrison set his phone down on the nearby coffee table and collapsed back into the soft sofa, his eyes fixed on the phone, waiting intently for her reply.

Yeah, what could be more awkward for Lilian—sitting there having dinner with Dave and Laurent, officially meeting her "boyfriend"—than suddenly receiving a picture of abs from another man?

Lost in his own petty revenge, Morrison didn’t realize just how badly his emotional intelligence had tanked at this moment.

Known far and wide for his high EQ, sharp mind, and knack for charming women, Morrison was now operating at zero—scratch that, negative emotional intelligence.

Linda walked over, glanced at his forlorn state, and sat down beside him with genuine concern.

"Hey babe, what’s wrong? You look like you just got dumped."

For Linda—the very mastermind who’d paired Karl and Lilian together—Morrison had zero interest in talking to her right now. If it weren’t for Linda stabbing him in the back, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

So instead of facing outward, he turned away, burying his face into the sofa cushions.

Unapologetically, Linda smacked him on the backside.

"Hey! Your mother’s talking to you—what’s with that attitude?"

After an afternoon spent sparring with Norton and Sean, Morrison’s back and waist were sore. Linda’s smack made him yelp and shoot up from the sofa, glaring at her in protest.

"Can you not be so rough? That actually hurts!"

Linda shrugged, feeling she hadn’t even hit him that hard.

"When did you get so weak?"

Morrison was speechless.

"Weak?"

That word coming from his own mother’s mouth? Morrison thought he’d be driven to an early grave by his own mom and brother.

"I’ve told you before—stop fooling around with those women out there. Don’t wear yourself out too soon. Look at you now—"

Linda went on lecturing him, implying that his soreness was a direct result of overindulgence.

Morrison was fuming. He snatched up his phone and stomped upstairs, slamming the door behind him.

Overindulgence?

He hadn’t touched a woman in over a year—how was that even possible?

Meanwhile, Lilian was dining with Karl, Dave, and Laurent. The atmosphere was surprisingly harmonious and pleasant. Karl behaved with all the charm and gentlemanliness one could expect. Dave was generally satisfied with Karl, and Laurent thought he was a decent, simple young man—just the right match for Lilian.

For Dave, he didn’t expect Lilian to find some extraordinarily capable or outstanding boyfriend. His only requirement was simple: the guy must treat Lilian well. As for financial or material conditions, Dave—as the big brother—could provide those.

Though he had lost control of Washington Co., Dave wasn’t going to stay down forever. His abilities destined him for more than an ordinary, mediocre life. Just a few days ago, when he went to a.t to discuss Lilian’s daughter’s enrollment with Zhuo Tingfeng, the condition set was for him to cooperate and invest with their Seven Group.

He didn’t have to put up the money—just his brain and intellect.

No denying it, those men at a.t were all vampires in their own right. Dave originally planned to rest a bit longer and spend time with Laurent and the little one, but he was pressured—softly and firmly—to get back into work.

He had no choice. To ensure his daughter could enter Zhuo Tingfeng’s school, he had to accept their terms. Yet he also made his own demand: all his work must guarantee the well-being of Laurent and his daughter first and foremost.

So Dave was tentatively content with Karl. But then he recalled Morrison’s words—that Karl’s eyes were glued only to his research. Dave’s smile faded a bit as he looked at Karl and asked,

"I heard you’re really obsessed with your research. If someday your research conflicts with Lilian, what would you do?"

A question straight from the guillotine.

It was like the classic "If your mother and wife fall into water, who do you save first?" dilemma. Karl felt sweat break out on his forehead. This big brother was ruthless, throwing such a hard question right off the bat.

Also, who told Dave about his obsession with research? He had just returned to the country. Only those closest to him knew about that habit. His parents, who always hoped he and Lilian would get along well, definitely hadn’t told Lilian’s family.

So... it could only be his big brother, Morrison.

Since Morrison was close friends with Dave, it was very likely he’d casually spilled the beans.

Karl’s brother really was trying to sabotage his relationship with Lilian by undermining him behind his back.

Still, Karl forced a smile and answered,

"Of course, Lilian is the most important..."

Before the topic could continue, Lilian’s phone buzzed.

She glanced at it and immediately wore an expression full of embarrassment and anger.

Karl, pretending not to notice, leaned in to peek.

"What’s wrong? You look upset."

Lilian quickly hid the phone, letting out a forced laugh.

"Nothing."

But inside, she was burning with shame and annoyance.

The message was from Morrison—a photo of his chiseled abs. Wheat-colored, eight-pack abs, and a smooth, descending Adonis belt. It was a sight both dazzling and infuriating.

Seeing it made her blush and heart race, especially since Karl had looked over her shoulder. She hastily locked her screen, not even noticing the bruise on Morrison’s abdomen.

How disgusting was that—sending her a photo of his stomach while she was out eating dinner with her "boyfriend" and dave Laurent?