The conference room buzzed with energy as Percival Covington's executive team finished their quarterly review. Numbers were up, competitors were scrambling, and Covington Group had secured three major contracts that would cement their dominance in the market for years to come.
"Excellent work," Percival said, his voice calm despite the victory. "We'll reconvene tomorrow to discuss next steps."
As the team filed out, Atticus Davis, Percival's head of operations, lingered behind with a sly grin on his face.
"So, the wife's doing well?" he asked casually.
Percival's expression remained neutral. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," Atticus replied, leaning against the doorframe. "The guys were talking. You've been different lately. Less... intense."
"Is that a complaint about my leadership?" Percival's voice took on a dangerous edge.
"No, no," Atticus backpedaled quickly. "Just an observation. You're usually here until midnight, but lately you've been leaving at reasonable hours. Some of us wondered if married life finally caught up with you."
Percival didn't correct the assumption. Let them think what they wanted. His personal life was his business.
"My schedule is my concern," he said firmly. "Focus on your department, Atticus."
When he was alone, Percival pulled out his phone and messaged Need Iron.
*Can you send me the address again? I'm coming tonight to check on Granny.*
The response came quickly with an address and apartment number. Percival memorized it, then turned his attention to the stack of reports on his desk. His phone buzzed again with another message from Need Iron.
*She's been asking about you all day. Bring those almond cookies she likes.*
Percival paused, feeling a strange twist of guilt. His grandmother had always been his one weakness—the only person who'd shown him genuine affection during his harsh upbringing. He made a mental note to stop by the bakery on his way.
---
Outside Covington Tower, Lyra Moreau walked briskly across the plaza, her mind racing with thoughts of her next move. After her failed attempt to make Percival understand their marital situation, she needed a new strategy.
"Lyra!"
The familiar voice froze her in place. She turned slowly to face Jasper Covington, Percival's nephew and her former university friend. His handsome face was twisted into an expression she'd never seen before—a mixture of contempt and desire that made her stomach turn.
"What do you want, Jasper?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.
He stepped closer, too close. "I heard about your... situation from Orla. Why didn't you tell me you were Lachlan Moreau's bastard?"
The word hit her like a slap. "That's none of your business."
"Oh, but it is," Jasper smiled coldly. "It explains so much. Why you were always so secretive. Why you lived in that tiny apartment while attending one of the most expensive universities in the country."
Lyra squared her shoulders. "I worked hard for my scholarship."
"And here I was, chasing after you for four years," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Imagine my shock when Orla told me the truth about you the day after our graduation."
"Is that why you suddenly proposed to her?" Lyra asked, the pieces finally clicking into place. "Because you found out I wasn't legitimate?"
Jasper's expression hardened. "The Covington family has standards. We don't mix with bastards. My grandfather would have disowned me."
"You're despicable," Lyra whispered.
"No, I'm practical," he corrected. "But that doesn't mean I've forgotten how beautiful you are."
His eyes roamed over her body in a way that made her skin crawl.
"You know," he continued, lowering his voice, "Orla doesn't have to know everything. I could set you up in a nice apartment. Take care of you. All you'd have to do is be... available when I need you."
Lyra's palm connected with his cheek before she even realized she'd moved. The crack echoed across the plaza, drawing stares from passersby.
Jasper grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging painfully into her skin. "You'll regret that," he hissed. "Do you know who I am? One word from me, and you'll never work in Oceanion again."
"Let go of me," Lyra demanded, her voice steady despite her racing heart.
"You're nothing," he spat. "A bastard with no future. I was offering you a chance, but now? You'll be lucky if you can find work sweeping floors after I'm done with you."
He released her wrist with a shove that sent her stumbling back a step. As he stalked away, Lyra fought to control her breathing.
"Are you alright?"
She turned to find a man in a suit—Percival's assistant, Roman—watching her with concern.
"I'm fine," she said automatically.
"That was Jasper Covington," Roman said, his voice low. "You should be careful around him. He has influence."
"I know exactly who he is," Lyra replied bitterly.
She glanced up and froze when she saw Percival Covington standing a few feet away, his cold gray eyes taking in the scene. He must have witnessed the entire exchange.
Roman followed her gaze. "Mr. Covington, perhaps we should—"
"Is there a problem?" Percival cut him off, his voice devoid of emotion.
Lyra straightened her shoulders. "Nothing I can't handle."
"She was just accosted by your nephew," Roman explained, earning a sharp look from his boss.
Percival's expression remained impassive as he studied her. "And what did you do to provoke him?"
The question stung. "Exist, apparently," Lyra answered flatly.
"Mr. Covington, perhaps we should offer some assistance," Roman suggested. "If Jasper is making threats—"
"This doesn't concern Covington Group," Percival interrupted. "The woman's personal affairs are her own problem."
His dismissal cut deeper than it should have. "Of course," Lyra said coldly. "Why would the great Percival Covington dirty his hands with an irrelevant person's problems?"
Something flickered in Percival's eyes—surprise, perhaps, at her boldness.
"Precisely," he replied after a moment. "Covington Group doesn't interfere in family matters, especially not for strangers claiming false connections."
He turned to Roman. "We're late for the Harrington meeting."
As Percival walked away, Roman gave her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry," he muttered before following his boss.
Lyra watched them go, her cheeks burning with humiliation. The day had gone from bad to worse, and now she'd antagonized the very man she needed help from.
---
Later that evening, Percival sat in the back of his luxury sedan, staring out at the city lights. The day's events replayed in his mind—particularly the confrontation he'd witnessed between his nephew and that woman, Lyra Moreau.
He hadn't intervened. It wasn't his place. The Covington family had enough internal conflicts without him adding to them by defending some stranger against Jasper.
Yet something about the exchange bothered him. The woman hadn't cowered. She'd stood her ground, even after Jasper's threat. There was a quiet dignity in her defiance that seemed at odds with the gold-digger image he'd formed of her.
"We're here, sir," his driver announced, pulling up to a modest apartment building.
Percival stepped out, clutching a small box of almond cookies. The building wasn't what he expected—it was clean but certainly not where he'd imagine his grandmother staying. Then again, Need Iron had mentioned keeping a low profile to avoid his father's people.
He found the apartment number and raised his hand to knock. Before his knuckles could touch the door, he heard a familiar voice from inside.
"Just a moment, dear! I'll be right there!"
Percival froze. That was his grandmother's voice. But how could she be here, in this stranger's apartment? Unless—
The door swung open, and there stood Lyra Moreau, her eyes widening in shock as their gazes met.
"Percival," she breathed.
Behind her, his grandmother's delighted voice called out, "Is that my Percival? Finally! I've been waiting all day for him!"