Chapter 17POV: Lyra
The moment we reached The Elowen, one of the most exclusive fine-dining restaurants in the US, I stepped out first. The night air brushed my skin as I adjusted my blazer. Gray came around the car, his signature confidence wrapped around him like his tailored coat.
"Let's go," he said, holding out his hand.
I walked ahead without taking it.
Inside, the ambiance was dipped in gold and dim light, whispering elegance with every chandelier sparkle. His team was already seated. The moment we walked in, they stood to greet us, faces respectful but clearly familiar.
Gray spoke with practiced ease, "You already know her—CEO of Lyra Industries. Miss Lyra Vale."
Like they didn't just see me dominate the boardroom hours ago. Still, I gave a small nod, lips curved in a polite, distant smile. The long table was decorated with crystal glasses, vintage wine, and a lavish spread—Italian, Chinese, French... each plate looked like it belonged on the cover of Gourmet Monthly.
"Nice to meet you again," Gray said with that infuriating smirk.
He pulled out a chair for me, but I sat in the one next to it. His smirk deepened before he took the one I avoided.
"This dinner is to celebrate the partnership between NexaTech and Lyra Industries," he said with mechanical sincerity, like someone fed him the line.
Glasses of aged wine were lifted. We clinked. I took a sip.
God, it was bitter—like betrayal in a crystal flute.
Gray chuckled. "First time?"
"In the US? Yes," I replied coolly.
He poured more champagne into my glass—far more than necessary. "Let's see if you can keep up," he teased, arrogant as ever.
My jaw tightened. So I drank.
And drank.
He watched with amused interest as I emptied the glass like it was sparkling water. The room swayed slightly, but I didn't let it show.
I met his gaze with mine. "You think you're testing me, Mr. Gray? I built my company stone by stone, in heels sharper than your suits. Don't confuse champagne with challenge."
His brows rose, his smirk sharpening. "That's exactly what I like... fire."
The heat in my cheeks wasn't just from the wine. Another glass. I didn't hesitate. But somewhere after that, everything blurred—faces, laughter, voices. The lights melted into gold streaks, and the floor felt less solid.
Then... black.
—
When I woke up, the ceiling wasn't mine.
My head throbbed like a broken siren. Dizziness clung to me like perfume I didn't ask for. I sat up slowly, blinking at the sterile luxury of a hotel room. White sheets. Marble floor. Silence.
Wait. How did I get here?
The last I remembered was the restaurant.
I stood up carefully. The room tilted for a second but I managed. Just as I reached the door, it flung open—and I collided into someone's chest.
"Watch yourself, Lyra," Kieller's voice was sharp, low, and familiar.
I stepped back, stunned. "How did I get here? What happened last night?"
He looked furious—eyes burning, jaw set tight. "I told you not to go with him. But of course, you never listen."
"Just answer me!" I snapped. "What happened?"
"You were walking alone on the street—drunk out of your mind. I saw you before anyone else could and brought you here."
My heart dropped.
"You tell me, Lyra—why were you alone? And that drunk?" His voice was biting, but beneath it... concern laced every syllable. He tried to hide it. Failed.
I closed my eyes, trying to piece fragments together. "I don't remember anything."
His fists clenched. "Did he touch you? Try to do anything—just try to remember!"
"No," I said calmly. "He didn't."
"Then why are you always this careless?"
That word stung. Careless.
My chest tightened. "Maybe if you hadn't thrown my trauma in my face yesterday, things wouldn't be this messed up!" I shouted, eyes burning with tears.
He paused. That silence stretched too long. His expression cracked, just for a second. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I didn't mean those words. That was my fault."
It was quiet.
"I didn't mean mine either," I whispered, eyes cast down.
His head lowered slightly. "Get ready. Work starts at 9."
And just like that, he turned and left.
—
I sighed.
Why did it feel... heavy?
I walked to the bathroom and stared at my reflection. Pale face. Tired eyes. I splashed water, applied light makeup, and pulled my hair into a messy bun. Black tailored pants, white silk blouse. Simple. Professional. Unapologetic.
I stepped outside the room.
Kieller was standing near the elevator, checking his watch. The moment he saw me, he straightened.
"Let's go," he said.
This time, no arrogance. No bite.
Just... softness. And something unreadable in his eyes.
Jealousy?
No. He doesn't get to be jealous.
Still... something had changed.
And somehow, I wasn't sure if that scared me or thrilled me more.