Chapter 20 —
[-Airport scene before arriving in the US ,in POV of kieller saving lyra ]
POV: Kieller Voss
I swear this girl will be the death of me.
We had a godda*n flight to the U.S. in less than an hour, and Lyra Vale—the ever-late, ever-infuriating tornado of chaos—was still stuck in the airport restroom. It had already been thirty minutes. Thirty. Fre*king. Minutes.
Probably reapplying lipstick or battling her eyeliner like it was a war. Who cares?
I leaned against the wall, checked my watch for the fifth time in five minutes, then sat back down on the sleek airport bench, seething. My phone buzzed in my hand, and I didn't even bother checking the ID.
"Finally. Did your mascara fight back or did you just pass out in the mirror?" I snapped the second I picked up, voice soaked in sarcasm and annoyance.
But the other side was quiet.
Dead quiet.
No annoyed comeback. No smartass insult. No sound.
Then I heard it—a faint thud, like the phone had dropped. And since the idiot had me on speaker, I heard every second of what came next.
"So... we finally meet in person, Miss Lyra Vale," a male voice said—unfamiliar, threatening, calm in the most dangerous way.
My jaw locked.
What the hell?
Then her voice—fiery, sharp, reckless—cut through the line.
"Try stepping closer. I'll do more than bark."
Even in danger, she was fighting. Da*n it, Lyra.
"Blindfold her," the man ordered.
I shot up from my seat, heart pounding. "Touch her again, and I'll burn this airport to the ground with you in it!" I barked into the phone like a mad dog—but no one was listening.
All I could hear was the sound of struggling—her muffled voice, scuffling, chaos. My fists clenched.
I was already sprinting.
Then, a woman—breathless and terrified—rushed toward me. "Sir! I—I saw some men dragging a Lyra Vale from the restroom! I think they were—taking her!"
My blood turned cold.
"How long ago?"
"Just five minutes."
"Which direction?" I snapped.
She pointed, and I didn't waste another second.
I shouted into my comm. "Get my car to the entrance NOW. Pull CCTV—trace everything from the past ten minutes. I want a location in five."
And I drove like hell.
"Sir," my team radioed back, "We've tracked the van. Northern warehouse district. GPS coordinates en route."
I swerved through traffic like a man possessed. I didn't care about laws. I didn't care about consequences. All I could see was her face—bloodied, scared, and broken—and I knew if I was even one second late…
I wouldn't forgive myself.
I reached the warehouse in under ten minutes. My gun was already in my hand.
The door was locked.
I pulled the trigger.
BANG.
Lock gone.
I kicked the door open with rage that could tear apart the sky itself.
"WHERE THE F**K IS LYRA VALE?!" I roared, the sound echoing like a threat through hell.
My eyes locked on her.
She was collapsed on the floor, blood trickling from her lips, her hair tangled and her face swollen. She looked like someone who had fought until her last breath. No. Not her. Not Lyra.
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward, gold mask glinting under the dim light.
"Ah, the arrogant prince finally arrives."
"Touch her again," I growled, aiming my gun straight between his eyes, "and I'll paint this warehouse with your brains. That mask won't save you."
I scanned the space—ten more men, all in white masks.
Cowards.
Hiding behind cheap plastic, thinking they could break what's mine.
"Hide her!" the golden bast**d shouted.
Two of his goons dragged Lyra into a side room and slammed the door shut.
That was the last straw.
They were playing with fire. And fire? Fire always consumes.
I fought.
Hard.
I cracked skulls, broke ribs, shattered kneecaps. My security stormed in at the perfect time, but I didn't stop—not until I had a clear path to that door.
I kicked it open—and froze.
Two men. One was crawling beneath her dress, the other kissing her while her wrists were still bound. Her dress was torn at the shoulders.
I lost it.
"WHAT THE F**K DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"**
BANG.BANG.
Headshots. Clean. Immediate.
They dropped like the filth they were.
I ran to her, eyes burning. My coat came off, and I wrapped it around her trembling body.
"Lyra… hey. I'm here."
I untied her wrists, removed the blindfold, gently carried her in my arms. But the moment I stood, her hand fell limp, and her head dropped sideways.
No.
No, no, no.
"Hold on, Lyra," I whispered, my voice cracking.
I carried her to the car like she was made of glass and laid her in the passenger seat. She collapsed again. Her head tilted back lifelessly. My heart dropped.
Not like this.
"Come on, Vale. You don't get to die like this. Not after giving me hell for two years straight."
I drove. Fast.
Faster than I ever had.
Midway, her eyes fluttered open. I nearly cried.
She coughed, barely able to speak. "What… about the U.S. deal…?"
I stared at her, stunned. "Are you out of your godda*n mind?! You almost died and you're about—"
I stopped myself. She wasn't dead. She wasn't r**ed. I was on time.
Just barely.
She passed out again before I could answer.
We reached the hospital. I didn't wait for protocol. I barked at the nurses, and they rushed her to the emergency room.
An hour passed.
The doctor finally emerged. "She's stable now. But… she was beaten brutally. Her body gave in—but her mind didn't. That's rare. That's what saved her."
That's Lyra.
Too da*n stubborn to die.
She was moved to the VVIP suite. I stayed.
She woke an hour later. Tired. Broken. But breathing.
She was still thinking about the deal. I could see it in her eyes.
I called the CEO myself and rescheduled for tomorrow. Risky? Yes. But if that's what she wanted—what she fought for—then I'd make it happen.
I arranged everything while she slept. Designer clothes, secure flights, elite guards.
As I watched her that night, I saw her tossing, sweating—nightmares. I gently woke her up.
"It's okay," I whispered, handing her water. "Just a nightmare. I'm here now. You're safe."
I pulled her into my arms. She didn't fight. She just… breathed. Like she needed that moment.
I let her fall asleep against me. I stayed on the couch, barely sleeping myself.
The next morning, I called the hospital staff.
"Everything should be perfect today," I barked. "She's going to walk out like a da*n queen."
I overruled the doctor's refusal to discharge her.
"Name your price," I said, voice cold. "Say a number."
Money talks. He agreed.
I returned to her room. She was awake, but barely able to sit.
I helped her up. She took a step on her own, even in pain.
And for the first time… her smile wasn't for the world.
It was real.
It was for her.
And maybe, maybe for me.
We boarded the flight.
She sat beside me.
For the first time, we talked—really talked.
She laughed.
I laughed.
She shared thoughts that didn't involve sharp insults, and I listened without planning a comeback.
And I don't know what the hell was happening…
But something inside me felt like home.
And it scared the living sh*t out of me.
[End of Chapter 20]