Lyra studied the Covington Group headquarters from across the street, her mind racing with the information Dorian had just shared. The towering glass building reflected the morning sun, gleaming like a beacon of power in the heart of the financial district.
"A fake wife," she muttered to herself, adjusting the courier uniform she'd borrowed from one of her small businesses. "He invented a wife to keep his family at bay, and somehow my name ended up on the paperwork."
The pieces were starting to fall into place. According to Dorian's sources, Percival Covington had fabricated a marriage to avoid his family's constant matchmaking attempts. But why her name? Why Lyra Moreau?
She took a deep breath and crossed the busy street, the package under her arm giving her the perfect cover. The security guard at the front desk barely glanced at her uniform before waving her through to the reception area.
"Delivery for Mr. Covington," she announced confidently to the receptionist, who directed her to the elevators.
"Top floor. Someone will meet you there."
The elevator ride gave Lyra time to collect her thoughts. If Percival had indeed invented a wife, then there was no real marriage to dissolve. But she needed proof—something concrete she could take to her lawyers to clear the path for her company's IPO.
The doors opened to reveal a sleek, minimalist reception area. A man with sharp eyes and an even sharper suit approached her immediately.
"Deliveries are processed on the third floor," he stated, blocking her path.
Lyra smiled pleasantly. "This package requires Mr. Covington's personal signature. Company policy."
The man—clearly Percival's assistant—narrowed his eyes. "Mr. Covington doesn't sign for packages. I handle all deliveries."
"Then I'll have to take this back to the office," she replied smoothly. "I'm sure Mr. Covington won't mind waiting another day for these urgent contracts from Westbridge Industries."
The assistant's eyebrow twitched at the mention of Westbridge—one of Covington Group's biggest competitors. It was a calculated risk, but one that paid off.
"Wait here," he said curtly, disappearing through a set of double doors.
Lyra maintained her composed expression, though inside she was smiling. The ability to think on her feet had saved her countless times growing up in the Moreau household. Now it was giving her access to one of the most inaccessible men in the city.
The assistant returned moments later, his face a mask of suspicion. "Mr. Covington will see you. Briefly."
He led her through the doors into a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Behind a massive desk sat Percival Covington—even more imposing in person than in the photos she'd seen.
His dark eyes assessed her coldly as she entered. "You have two minutes."
The assistant hovered by the door. "Shall I stay, Mr. Covington?"
"That won't be necessary, Roman," Percival replied, not taking his eyes off Lyra. "Close the door on your way out."
Once they were alone, Lyra placed the package on his desk and removed her cap, releasing her dark hair.
"I'm not actually a courier," she stated directly.
Percival leaned back in his chair. "I know. Roman ran your ID the moment you stepped onto this floor. You're Lyra Moreau, and you work for several small businesses, including the courier service whose uniform you're wearing."
His quick background check surprised her, but she didn't let it show. "Then you also know why I'm here."
"Enlighten me."
Lyra met his gaze steadily. "I believe we're legally married, Mr. Covington."
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or alarm—before his expression hardened again.
"Is this about Jasper?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Jasper?" Lyra frowned in confusion. "Your nephew? What does he have to do with this?"
Percival studied her reaction, then stood up and walked to the window. "Let me guess. You're one of his ex-girlfriends, and he mentioned our family's... complex relationships. Now you've concocted this story about being married to me as some form of revenge."
Lyra almost laughed at the absurdity. "I assure you, Mr. Covington, this has nothing to do with Jasper. I discovered our supposed marriage when I tried to register for one myself yesterday."
"That's impossible," Percival stated flatly.
"I agree, and yet here we are." She pulled out a folded paper from her pocket—a copy of the marriage certificate. "According to this, we've been married for almost four years."
Percival didn't even glance at the document. "I don't have time for games, Ms. Moreau. If you're looking for money—"
"I'm not," she interrupted. "I run multiple successful businesses, including Iris Energy. Perhaps you've heard of it—we're preparing for an IPO next month. An IPO that's now in jeopardy because of this mysterious marriage."
Something shifted in Percival's expression at the mention of Iris Energy. The company was small but gaining attention for its innovative approach to renewable resources.
"You expect me to believe you're the owner of Iris Energy?" he asked skeptically.
"I don't particularly care what you believe," Lyra replied calmly. "I'm here because I need this marriage dissolved immediately. My company's future depends on it."
Percival moved back to his desk and pressed a button on his phone. "Roman, escort Ms. Moreau out."
"Mr. Covington—"
"This conversation is over." His tone was final. "I'm not married to you or anyone else. Whatever document you have is a forgery, and I suggest you leave before I have security remove you."
The door opened behind her as Roman entered, but Lyra stood her ground. "Look at the certificate. Just look at it."
"I don't need to look at a fake document."
"Then how do you explain your grandmother recognizing me as your wife yesterday?" Lyra challenged.
Percival froze, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "What did you just say?"
Before she could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the display and immediately answered.
"What is it?" His face drained of color as he listened. "When? How long has she been gone?" He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "I'm on my way."
He hung up and fixed Lyra with an ice-cold stare. "My grandmother has gone missing from her care facility. If you've done anything to manipulate or harm her—"
"I haven't even seen her since yesterday," Lyra protested.
"Roman, see Ms. Moreau out. And call security to escort her from the building." With that, Percival strode past her and out of the office, leaving her standing there with the marriage certificate still in her hand.
Roman approached with a stern expression. "This way, please."
Realizing there was nothing more she could do today, Lyra allowed herself to be escorted to the elevator. As the doors closed, she caught a glimpse of Roman watching her with curious eyes.
Outside the Covington building, she pulled out her phone to call Dorian. She needed more information, and fast. Either Percival Covington was an exceptional liar, or there was something about this marriage that even he didn't understand.
The bus ride home was filled with frustration and planning. By the time she reached her modest apartment building, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the street.
As she approached her door, a small figure sitting on the floor beside it caught her attention. An elderly woman in expensive clothes, looking frail but determined.
Lyra's heart sank as recognition dawned. It was Old Mrs. Covington—Percival's missing grandmother.
Before Lyra could say a word, the old woman looked up, her eyes brightening. She reached out and grabbed Lyra's wrist with surprising strength.
"My granddaughter-in-law!" she exclaimed. "You won't leave me behind again!"