Chapter 22 – POV: kieller
I woke up exactly at 7:00 AM. Sharp. My head was clear, but the weight from last night still lingered like a stain under my skin. After freshening up, I headed straight to her room—something inside me just needed to see she was still breathing.
As I opened the door, she bumped right into me. Typical.
"Watch yourself, Lyra," I snapped. But then I caught her expression—confused, hazy. She blinked up at me like she didn't even recognize the moment.
"How... how did I get here? What happened last night?" she asked.
I stared at her. Blank. Nothing behind her eyes. She didn't remember a damn thing. Maybe it was better that way.
"I told you not to go with him. But of course, you didn't listen," I said, hiding my worry behind a mask of frustration.
"Just answer me!" she barked. "What happened?"
She really didn't know. Good. I'd keep it that way.
"You tell me, Lyra. Why were you drunk and walking alone on a dark street?" I pressed. My voice was calm, but my mind was spiraling. Did Gray touch her? No. He wouldn't dare—
"I don't remember!" she snapped, and her voice cracked. Something in me clenched. Why can't she remember? What happened?
And then she threw my own sins at me.
"Maybe if you hadn't thrown my traumas in my face yesterday, things wouldn't be so messed up!"
I went still. For the first time in years, I said it—"Sorry." And this time, I meant it. Fully. Rawly.
She apologized too. And for a brief moment, something heavy between us lifted.
"Get ready. Work starts at nine," I muttered and left before I said anything else that sounded too... real.
Half an hour later, she appeared. Late, as always. But today, I didn't even care.
"Let's go," I said and walked to the car. The silence inside was louder than any screaming match we'd ever had.
At the office, as we stepped into the hallway, our assistant Callie approached.
"Ma'am, the CEO wants to see you in his office," she said.
My brows furrowed instantly. "What about me? Why only Lyra?" Da*n it—why did that even come out of my mouth?
Lyra gave me a curious look. "Why do you sound... jealous?"
"Nothing. You go," I grumbled arrogantly and stormed off. But I couldn't stop pacing. What the hell were they talking about in there?
I cracked. I went straight to Gray's office. The moment I opened the door—
"Yes, Mr. Gray. I'm desperate to work with you," she said.
My vision went red.
"So much desperation, Lyra," I said, my tone cutting.
"Not enough," she replied coolly. "I'll do my best to impress you."
Oh, hell no.
"Mr. Voss," Gray said with that irritating smirk. "I was waiting for you too. Let's begin."
After he left, I turned on her. "What the hell are you thinking, Lyra?"
We argued. Hard. I stormed out. I couldn't stand the thought of her chasing another man's approval.
Jealous? No. I don't do jealous. Do I?
Later that evening, after handling media compliance issues at my other worksite, I told my assistant to leave. I needed to see her. I needed to know what she was doing.
I called her. Another argument. Shocking.
But then I saw her—walking toward me. And suddenly—she stopped.
Her expression twisted. Then she sprinted.
"What the—"
She tackled me to the ground.
"What the f*ck, Lyra?" I shouted.
And then...Gunshot.Blood.Her blood.
I saw her clutching her stomach, stumbling back.
She ran. Even while bleeding, she ran.
I chased her. I'd murder whoever pulled that trigger.
We ran through the streets and into the subway. I caught the masked bast**d. I didn't hold back—blow after blow, my fists painted with his blood.
"Kieller... stop..." she begged, her voice fragile.
But I couldn't.
"For my sake... please... call the police..." she pleaded, collapsing.
That stopped me.
Her shirt was soaked in red. Blood was dripping onto the concrete. She swayed... and fell.
"No. No. No, Lyra!"
I grabbed her in my arms. Her eyes fluttered open.
"Why... are you always there... when I'm hurt?" she whispered.
"Don't speak, you idiotic black cat," I muttered. But I was shaking. She tried to reach for me and passed out again.
I carried her to the hospital like my soul depended on her heartbeat. "Stretcher! NOW!" I roared.
Doctors rushed in.
The police found me. "Are you Kieller Voss?"
"Yeah," I said coldly.
"You assaulted the suspect—"
"That bast**d shot Lyra Vale. I should've killed him."
"You're not guilty. He's under arrest. We have footage."
Good. They left. My assistant called.
"Sir, your video's viral. You beating him—"
"Handle it. Make it disappear."
Hours passed. The doctor came out.
"She's stable. Bullet removed. But the muscles on her right are fragile—no movement on that side. Understood?"
I nodded, finally breathing again.
She was moved to the VVIP suite. I waited.
One hour later, she stirred.
"Don't even f*cking try," I snapped, seeing her struggle.
"What were you thinking? Running after a killer while bleeding out?! Are you from a cheap soap opera?!"
"Can you... not bark at me, you oversized doberman?" she whispered, barely holding back pain.
But I softened. "Are you okay? Wait—I'll call the doctor."
I ran out, pacing.
After the checkup, I went back in. "How are you feeling?"
She lifted a weak thumbs up.
I smirked. "Good. Now the world can be at peace—you won't be running that motor mouth for a week."
Before she could respond, the door burst open.
Gray.
"What happened to you?!" he demanded.
Then he turned to me. "Did you catch the shooter?"
"Yeah. He's behind bars. The police are on it."
"That's it? What if you were late? What if—"
"But I wasn't," I growled.
We were about to explode—again—when Lyra screamed.
She collapsed.
F*ck.
Her stitches ripped. She was in agony. I caught her too late.
Emergency lights flashed. Doctors rushed in. We were pushed out.
It was all my fault. Again.
Thirty minutes later, the doctor came out.
"She's stable. She needs full rest. No movement on her right side, please."
We walked in. She was asleep. Gray looked at me.
"Take care of her. I'm leaving."
I sat beside her, watching her chest rise and fall.
Why does this girl affect me so much?
I didn't realize when I fell asleep.
But then she stirred.
"You okay? Pain? Need anything?" I asked.
"Just... water."
I helped her. She leaned against me. I held her.
She drifted off again.
I pulled the blanket over her, then sat back on the couch, staring at her.
Why does she matter so much?
What is this?
No. It can't be.
But even in denial... I couldn't stop watching her breathe.