Lyra sat at the corner table of Café Laurent, drumming her fingertips against her phone. She'd chosen this place carefully—neutral territory, far from the Moreau mansion with its painful memories. The thought of returning there yesterday had been difficult enough. Today, she needed space to think clearly.
She glanced at her watch. Mrs. Moreau was running late, which was unusual for the always-punctual woman. Lyra hoped everything was alright.
Her phone buzzed with a new message. "Grandson" again—Percival Covington's code name in her contacts.
Grandson: My grandmother is asking for her medication. The blue pills in the left drawer of her nightstand. One with breakfast.
Lyra smiled slightly. After just two days of caring for Old Mrs. Covington, she'd already established a routine with Percival. His initial suspicion had slowly transformed into something resembling trust.
Lyra: Already given. She took it with her toast and eggs.
She hesitated, then added a video of Mrs. Covington peacefully napping in the guest bedroom. The elderly woman looked content, a small smile on her lips even in sleep.
Across town, Percival Covington sat in a monitoring van, watching the video with intense focus. The family doctor beside him nodded approvingly.
"Her color is better than I've seen in months," the doctor remarked. "And she's actually sleeping without medication."
Percival's brow furrowed. "How is that possible? We've hired the best caregivers money can buy."
The doctor shrugged. "Sometimes it's not about credentials. Some people just have a natural way with patients."
Percival studied the video again. Need Iron—this mysterious woman who'd somehow gotten entangled in his life—was proving surprisingly competent. He couldn't deny the evidence before his eyes: his grandmother was flourishing under her care.
He typed a response: She looks peaceful. Thank you.
Lyra read his message with surprise. Percival Covington expressing gratitude? That was unexpected. Before she could respond, she spotted Mrs. Moreau entering the café, her slender frame looking frailer than ever.
Lyra rose quickly, guiding the woman to her seat. "You should have called. I would have picked you up."
Mrs. Moreau waved away her concern. "The walk did me good." She studied Lyra's face. "You look tired, dear. Is everything alright?"
"Just busy," Lyra replied, not mentioning her elderly houseguest. "How are you feeling?"
"Better today." Mrs. Moreau sipped the water a waiter had poured. "Thank you for coming as Dr. Payne yesterday. I know it was unexpected."
Lyra's expression darkened. "Orla didn't suspect anything, did she?"
"No. She was quite disappointed when 'Dr. Payne' had to cancel last minute." Mrs. Moreau smiled faintly. "Though she's determined to reschedule."
"Of course she is," Lyra muttered.
Mrs. Moreau reached across the table, touching Lyra's hand gently. "I've always wondered why you keep that identity so secret."
Lyra stared at their joined hands. "You know why. A young, female scientist wouldn't be taken seriously—especially one with the Moreau name attached."
"The work you've done... it could change everything."
"Exactly why I can't let anyone connect it to me." Lyra sighed. "Not until the patents are secure."
Their conversation was interrupted by a text notification. Lyra glanced down at her phone.
Percival Covington: My grandmother's doctor would like to speak with you about her sleep patterns. When would be convenient?
Lyra quickly replied: I'll be free after lunch. Around 2 PM?
His response came immediately: Perfect. Dr. Lawson will call then.
Lyra slipped her phone away, focusing back on Mrs. Moreau. "I need to take care of something this afternoon, but let's enjoy our lunch."
As they ate, Lyra felt a strange sense of peace. Despite everything, these moments with the woman who'd shown her the only kindness in her childhood were precious.
"I should get going," Lyra said eventually, noting the time. "I need to prepare for a meeting."
Mrs. Moreau nodded. "About your divorce?"
Lyra froze. "How did you know about that?"
"Orla mentioned it." Mrs. Moreau looked concerned. "She seemed quite gleeful about it, actually."
Of course Orla would be celebrating her apparent failure. Lyra forced a smile. "It's just a misunderstanding that needs clearing up."
They parted with a warm hug, and Lyra headed directly to the Covington Group headquarters. The imposing glass tower reflected the afternoon sun, making it look like it was crafted from pure light. She straightened her simple cream blouse and navy skirt before walking through the revolving doors.
The reception area was bustling with people in expensive suits. Lyra approached the front desk confidently.
"I'm here to see Percival Covington," she stated. "Lyra Moreau. I believe he's expecting me."
The receptionist, a polished woman with sharp eyes, didn't bother checking her computer. "Do you have an appointment?"
"We've been communicating. It's regarding our divorce proceedings."
The woman's perfectly shaped eyebrows arched. "Divorce proceedings?" She laughed lightly. "Mr. Covington isn't married."
"There's been a misunderstanding—" Lyra began.
"There certainly has been," the receptionist cut her off. "Mr. Covington doesn't see anyone without an appointment, especially not people claiming bizarre connections to him."
Lyra felt her cheeks flush. "If you would just call up to his office—"
"I'm not disturbing Mr. Covington with this nonsense." The receptionist's voice had turned cold. "Please leave before I call security."
As Lyra tried to argue her case, the main doors swung open. A familiar laugh cut through the lobby like a knife. Orla Moreau strode in, immaculate in a designer outfit, Jasper Covington at her side.
Orla spotted Lyra and her smile widened maliciously. "Well, well. Look who it is."
Lyra stiffened but maintained her composure. "Orla. Jasper."
Jasper barely acknowledged her, looking through her as if she were invisible. The receptionist, however, immediately straightened.
"Ms. Moreau! Mr. Covington! Welcome. Mr. Percival Covington is expecting you both."
Orla smirked at Lyra. "Of course he is. We're discussing wedding venues for our engagement party." She leaned in closer to Lyra, lowering her voice. "Still trying to cling to your fake marriage, I see. How pathetic."
Lyra refused to rise to the bait. "I just need to speak with him."
"About what?" Orla laughed coldly. "Your desperate attempt to pretend you're someone important? Everyone knows you're nothing but an illegitimate mistake."
The receptionist watched this exchange with growing alarm. "Is this woman bothering you, Ms. Moreau?"
Orla seized the opportunity. "She's been stalking Mr. Covington, claiming to be his wife. Poor thing is clearly delusional."
"I am not—" Lyra started, but the receptionist was already reaching for her phone.
"I'm calling security," she announced. "We don't tolerate harassment of our executives."
Lyra's face burned with humiliation. Several people in the lobby had stopped to watch the unfolding scene.
Upstairs in his office, Percival glanced at his watch. He'd been waiting for Need Iron's call about his grandmother, but it was past two already. Irritated, he messaged her.
Percival: Where are you? Dr. Lawson is waiting.
Lyra felt her phone vibrate but couldn't check it as the receptionist continued berating her.
"Security will be here momentarily. I suggest you leave willingly before they escort you out."
Orla's smile was triumphant as she looped her arm through Jasper's. "Always causing scenes, aren't you, Lyra? Some things never change."
Downstairs, Percival frowned at his phone. No response. That wasn't like her. On impulse, he sent another message.
Percival: Are you alright? Where are you?
When she replied seconds later, his blood ran cold.
Lyra: Main entrance of Covington Group. Being threatened with security.
Percival stood so abruptly his chair slammed against the wall. Dr. Lawson looked up in surprise.
"Is everything alright, Mr. Covington?"
Percival was already striding toward the door. "No. It's not."
The woman who'd been caring for his grandmother—the only person who'd managed to help the old woman sleep peacefully in months—was downstairs. And apparently being thrown out of his building.
"Send security to the main lobby," he barked at his assistant as he passed. "Tell them to wait for my arrival."
The elevator couldn't move fast enough. Percival's mind raced. Who was this woman really? How had she ended up at his company? And most puzzling of all—why did he suddenly care so much?