Chapter 12 –
POV: Lyra
After my explosive comeback at the press conference, the internet practically combusted with my name. News anchors, tabloids, business blogs—they all had one headline in common: Lyra Vale isn't dead. She's reborn. And I didn't just walk back into the spotlight, I stormed into it. Like I always do.
But while the world cheered, I was drowning in unfinished work. It was 4:00 PM, and I was knee-deep in files that had collected dust during my disappearance. My calendar was bursting with emergency meetings. I should've been exhausted. But this is what queens do—they rise, grind, and slay.
As I reviewed a particularly frustrating sales report, there was a knock.
"Ma'am," my secretary poked her head in, looking nervous, "Mr. Voss is here. He says it's about the contract."
I nearly slammed the folder shut.
"Tell that arrogant statue I'm busy."
"He told me to say... if you say that, remind you it's about the Altrex deal."
I rolled my eyes so hard I could see my own soul sigh.
"Fine. Make him wait in the lounge. I'm coming in ten."
Seriously, author, aren't you bored bringing Kieller Voss into my life every damn day?
Author: Nope. This story needs spice, and he's the fire.
Scene: Waiting Room – The Clash of Titans
I walked to the waiting room with cold heels and colder intentions. The door swung open and there he was—Kieller Voss, standing like he owned the air in the room.
"Didn't expect you to show up looking like a statue with a superiority complex," I said, folding my arms. "This is a company, not your family's showroom."
He didn't even blink. "Relax. I'm not here to admire your art deco walls. We've got business. Or did you forget you signed the contract?"
"I forget things that don't matter. But unfortunately, your irritating face keeps showing up."
He smirked. "Says the woman who keeps noticing it. Funny how much energy you waste pretending I'm not relevant."
"You're not relevant. You're just... inevitable. Like a migraine."
He stepped forward, throwing a file on the table. "We have a joint meeting with Altrex Corp's CEO. Tomorrow. In the U.S. Tickets booked. Don't be late."
"You booked mine?" I laughed coldly. "You must think I owe you my schedule. I'll fly myself. I don't need to breathe the same cabin air as you."
"Fly commercial then. Or flap your wings. Just be at the meeting, Vale. For once, show up without the drama."
My jaw clenched. I stepped closer, head high.
"I don't bring drama. I bring results. But men like you confuse dominance with volume. Learn the difference."
"I don't need lessons from a woman who treats employees like pawns and thinks silence equals power."
"Power is what you have when you don't need to explain yourself. I suggest you try it sometime."
He chuckled bitterly. "Just don't be late. Not everyone has time to wait for a throne-wannabe who runs on ego and headline appearances."
"And not everyone hides their mediocrity behind designer suits and daddy's legacy."
He paused, almost amused. "Nice try, Vale. But your crown's slipping. Fix it before someone else snatches it."
"Let them try." I turned to walk away, not sparing him a second glance. "But next time you stand in my waiting room, knock. You're not welcome unless summoned."
His voice followed me as I left.
"Careful. Arrogance is only attractive when you're still winning."
I didn't answer.
Because I always win.
As the door shut behind me, I didn't look back. I didn't need to.
I could feel his smugness like smoke trailing after me, trying to suffocate everything I'd built. But I've walked through real fire. A man like Kieller Voss? He's just fumes.
I stormed back into my cabin, heels sharp against marble. My secretary stood up.
"Mam—"
"Don't. Not now." I held up a hand.
I poured myself a glass of cold water, trying to cool the heat crawling under my skin. My reflection in the window stared back—composed, lethal, and ready to crush anyone who thought they could rattle me.
I picked up the file he left behind, eyes scanning every page like a blade. Altrex Corp. Multi-million dollar tech partnership. Of course he wants to ride this wave with me. Parasite.
My intercom buzzed. "Mam, there's something urgent—"
"Let me guess. A problem. Like always."
"Yes... the flight you requested to the U.S. is fully booked. There's no availability until late tomorrow."
I almost laughed. Of course. This day really wanted to test me.
"Hotels?"
"Booked out too, mam. There's a luxury conference in the city. No rooms left."
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I looked at the ceiling and muttered, "God, if you're trying to humble me, send someone better than Kieller Voss."
My options were clear: miss the meeting and risk millions… or ask that silver-spooned demon for help.
Disgusting.
But my empire came first.
I picked up the phone. Called him.
One ring. Two. He picked up.
"Wow. Didn't expect your Highness to lower herself."
"Don't flatter yourself. I need transport. That's all. My flight's canceled. You're going anyway. I'll be on that jet."
"No magic words?"
"Yes. Don't speak to me on the way."
He laughed. "I'll send the details. Don't embarrass yourself by arriving late."
He hung up before I could fire back.
Coward.
Scene: That Night – Lyra's Luxury Detour Turns Nightmare
By 8:00 p.m., I had left my company, done with the world. I needed clothes—my villa still under investigation. So I drove to Mistré Mall, my usual escape.
Inside, I moved like a storm — Louis Vuitton, Alexander McQueen, Dior — bags piled high, my expression stone cold.
By the time I loaded the trunk of my car, I realized the stupid thing: my fuel gauge was flashing red. I had nothing left — not patience, not gas.
I pulled onto the highway. Empty. Dark. Alone.
And then the car gave up, choking to a halt in the middle of nowhere. Of course. Of course.
I stepped out, the wind clawing at my dress, and looked around. Nothing but headlights in the distance.
A black SUV slowed beside me.
Not safety. Not hope.
Three guys leaned out.
"Need a ride, gorgeous?"
"Want us to help carry those bags… or carry you?"
I rolled my eyes. "Unless one of you can transform into gasoline, back off."
"Come on, babe. Don't be cold in this hot dress."
"Touch me and I'll show you how cold steel feels."
They laughed.
And then—
Vroooom.
A sleek black Ferrari tore down the highway and screeched to a stop beside me.
Kieller Voss stepped out like a scene cut from a revenge film.
"Seriously? Again?" he said. "Do you have a tracker for danger or are you just naturally cursed?"
The boys backed up instantly. One stammered, "Who's this guy?"
Another said, "Looks like her bodyguard."
The third whispered, "No, bro, that's her husband."
I stared at them, disgusted. Kieller just smirked.
"Husband? Do I look that desperate?"
I scoffed. "He couldn't afford me even if he sold his company twice."
Kieller replied, "And she still thinks she's priceless. Must be nice living in delusion."
"At least I don't rent my backbone."
The boys backed off, muttering curses as they drove away.
I turned to Kieller. "Thanks for the unrequested rescue. Again."
He said, "If you were smart, you'd stop creating situations that require me."
Rain began to pour.
I looked at my dozens of shopping bags, now soaked.
"Seriously?!"
Kieller stared. "Is this a fashion week or a business trip?"
"Jealousy is ugly, Voss."
"So is your luggage addiction."
I tried to walk, but my heel snapped. I slipped. Of course.
He didn't help. He just stood there. "You done with the drama?"
"No. Help me up before I throw one of these heels at your head."
He sighed and walked over. But when I stood, pain shot through my foot. My ankle gave in.
He muttered something under his breath, then lifted me bridal-style after I slipped. "You really like falling."
he dumped me into the passenger seat.
"You've got a talent for falling," he muttered.
The car ride was silent. Just the sound of rain clawing at the windows and the occasional growl of the engine as Kieller drove like the storm wasn't even happening. He didn't speak. I didn't thank him. That was the agreement — unsaid, but clear.
When we pulled up to the villa, something inside me jolted.The gate. The driveway. The carpeted entrance with steel lion handles on the door...I'd seen this place before.
No.
I stared up at the building, chest tightening. The nurse. The coat. The signature perfume in the room where I woke up. The man who never gave his name but left without asking for anything.It was him.
"So," I whispered, as he turned off the ignition. "It was you... who saved me. That night."
He didn't look surprised. Just shrugged.
"You make a habit of getting in trouble. I make a habit of watching people like you fail to ask for help."
"Then why did you help?" I demanded. "What did you want in return? Glory? Guilt trip? A crown?"
He finally met my eyes, cold and unreadable.
"I wanted silence. And for once, I got it. Until now."
I was shaking — not from the rain. From the weight of the realization.He knew. He knew everything.He had seen me bleeding, unconscious, bruised. He had seen me weak — something I spent my whole life hiding.
And still, he said nothing.
I stepped out, clutching my swollen ankle and the edge of the car. The bags were forgotten. My pride was screaming, but I needed answers more than I needed armor.
"Why didn't you tell me it was you?"
He exhaled. "Because your ego wouldn't survive it. And because I didn't save you for you. I saved you so I wouldn't have to deal with the mess if you died."
"You're lying."
"Good. Keep believing that. Makes it easier for both of us."
We stepped inside the villa. The heat hit me like a slap. The luxury screamed money, but it wasn't cold. It was curated. Personal. Safe.
He called a maid. "Give her something dry to wear before she dies of hypothermia. I don't want a lawsuit on my hands."
I rolled my eyes but said nothing. The maid returned with a plain black T-shirt. No pants.
"Just this?"
The maid nodded. "Sir said it would look good on you."
"Of course he did." I muttered.
I changed in the guest room, angry at how well it fit. As I walked out — still annoyed — he was already seated at the dinner table. Steak. Wine. A spread like a five-star hotel.
He didn't even glance up.
"Don't worry. I'm not here to poison you. Or flirt."
"What a relief," I muttered, sitting across from him.
Midway through the meal, he casually slid something onto the table.
A red envelope.
The red envelope.
My breath caught. My chest tightened. My vision blurred.
The room tilted.
"Where did you get that?" I whispered.
He didn't answer immediately. He leaned back, staring at me like he was measuring my fear.
"It was on my doorstep. The same night you were found."
I froze. The panic crept in again. My hand trembled. That envelope had blood on it — metaphorically, and maybe literally. It was the same shape, same texture, same elegant but terrifying handwriting.
I stood up. Tried to walk. Failed.
He was by my side before I hit the floor.
"Lyra—hey. Stay with me. Breathe."
But I couldn't. My body betrayed me. My mind collapsed in on itself.And suddenly — it all spilled out.
"Why is this happening to me?" I gasped. "What does he want? I've already survived more than most people can imagine."
"I was fifteen. Alone. Abandoned. Sleeping on footpaths. Starving.""I fought every damn storm — the students who mocked me, the family that left me, the hunger that nearly killed me. I clawed my way to the top — bleeding, crying, but I made it. I OWNED that stage."
"And just when I thought I was finally free... this? This sick game?"
I was sobbing now, knees on the floor, my body limp and shivering as my tears soaked the wood beneath me.
"Why me?" I whispered.
There was silence. No pity. No fake comfort.
Just his voice. Low. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Because powerful women scare weak men. And weak men love control."
He knelt beside me.
"You're not crazy. You're not alone. But if you want to survive this — really survive it — you'll need to stop hiding behind that queen mask and start acting like one."
His words weren't warm. They were steel. But they were real.
And in that moment, I didn't hate him.
I hated the world that made me need him. my vison got black.
And when I woke up in the guest room, the ceiling above me unfamiliar but soft in its light. My throat was dry. My limbs still ached from the earlier breakdown. But it wasn't just exhaustion. It was something heavier.
The panic attack had drained every ounce of strength I had left.And yet, the moment I blinked awake — I could still feel it.His hands. Holding me. His voice. Sharp but steady. His presence. Infuriatingly constant.
I turned my head slowly. The faint creak of the door told me I wasn't alone.
He was standing there, arms crossed, back leaning against the frame. Same black shirt. Same unreadable expression.
"You faint like a pro," he said, voice flat.
I rolled my eyes weakly. "I didn't know you were taking notes."
He pushed off the wall and walked in, placing a glass of water on the nightstand beside me.
"Drink it. Doctor said your body needs hydration. And apparently, you're allergic to peace."
"That's rich coming from a man whose voice could start wars," I muttered.
He smirked — just barely. Then the smirk faded.
"You shouldn't have to carry all that alone," he said, almost to himself.
I froze.
"What did I even say?" I asked slowly.
He didn't answer.
"Kieller. What did I say when I broke down?"
He looked at me. Really looked.
"Enough to understand that all this," he gestured vaguely — the panic, the pain, the rage — "wasn't just about a killer. It's about your past trying to choke your future."
I swallowed hard.
"I didn't mean to tell you."
"You didn't have to." He paused. "The moment you started breathing like your lungs were betraying you, I already knew."
Silence.
Outside, the rain had stopped. But inside me — the storm was still very much alive.
"I don't need your pity," I said, eyes narrowing.
His gaze sharpened. "Good. Because I don't offer any."
We stared at each other — the queen and the devil, as the world would call us.Two people built on ruin. On power. On the unspoken pain that made us cruel and cold and relentless.
He finally broke the silence.
"Be ready by 8 AM. We fly out sharp."
"You still want me on that jet?" I asked bitterly.
"I don't back out of deals. Even with unstable women who cry in guest rooms."
I threw a pillow at him. He caught it with one hand.
"You're such an ass."
"And you're the woman who fainted on the floor two hours ago and still thinks she can throw pillows like a weapon."
His words were sharp. But his eyes weren't.For the first time, there was something else there.
Not softness.
But respect.
Recognition.
A kind of silent truce between two broken empires.
As he turned to leave, I asked — softer than before:
"Why did you really save me?"
He paused at the door.
"Because, Lyra Vale, whether you admit it or not... you're the most terrifying woman I've ever met."
He left.
And I smiled.
Because in this world of daggers and darkness, fear... is power.