Reborn as the Boss Lady novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3 You’ve Never Asked My Name

“Up.”Dylan didn’t make a sound, but the word formed clearly on his lips.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, heavy and relentless.

He wanted to be hugged.

“Don’t pick him up.”

Jerome’s voice cut in—cold, absolute, leaving no room for disobedience. The already chaotic room seemed to tighten under it.

Wynne didn’t even look at him.

She simply reached out and covered Dylan’s ears, her voice low and casual. “Ignore him. He’s talking nonsense.”

For a second, even Jerome went still.

Brian, sensing danger, tried to quietly edge toward the door—only to freeze mid-step when Alex shot him a lethal glare.

When giants clash, it’s the little ones who get crushed.

“Wynne Sinclair.”

It was the first time anyone had openly defied Jerome.

He smiled.

And somehow, that made him even more dangerous.

“Mr. Cromwell,” Wynne said lazily, lifting Dylan into her arms anyway, “you’re not exactly young anymore. Why pick a fight with a kid?”

Her tone carried a faint, mocking edge.

Jerome’s lips pressed into a thin line. His expression cold and unreadable.

He just watched her quietly.

The air froze solid. No one dared breathe.

This girl… is asking to die.

Then—after what felt like an eternity—Jerome’s fingers moved slightly.

It was enough.

The staff exhaled in relief, like prisoners granted a pardon. They rushed in, cleaned the shattered mess, and disappeared in seconds.

Wynne turned, carrying Dylan toward the door.

She didn’t get far.

Alex stepped in front of her, expression blank. “Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Cromwell hasn’t dismissed you.”

Wynne recognized him immediately—the one who knocked her out.

Her gaze lingered on him for a beat.

“Hmph!”

Dylan suddenly leaned forward, trying to bite Alex’s arm—but Wynne pinched his lips shut mid-motion.

“Mmph?”

He blinked, head tilting slightly, instantly turning from feral to… an adorable rubber duck.

“Fine,” Wynne said lightly. “I won’t leave.”

She turned back, unfazed, and carried Dylan straight across the room.

Then sat down, right across from Jerome.

Facing him.

Only then did she notice—

The wheelchair.

Custom-built. Sleek. Expensive.

But wrong.

Because she remembered him standing in that warehouse.

Her eyes flickered.

Was her memory off… or was something else going on?

“You haven’t even asked my name,” Jerome said at last, his voice low and measured.

His gaze locked onto her—dark, cold, like a frozen lake under moonlight. Every line of his face was sharp, controlled, dangerous.

A man who held all the cards.

Brian’s eyes lit up instantly, practically vibrating with curiosity as he shot Alex a look.

Alex shut him down with a single glance.

“Do I need to?”

Wynne frowned slightly, genuinely puzzled.

Everyone froze.

A beat later, she seemed to realize how that sounded and added, “I mean—I’ll be leaving soon. Does it really matter what your name is, Mr. Cromwell?”

Casual. Detached.

The temperature in the room dropped another degree.

Brian hunched his shoulders.

Oh, god. Too blunt. Way too blunt.

“Who said you could leave?”

Jerome’s voice sank lower, darker. His gaze sharpened, like he could see straight through her.

He sat there, one hand lazily stroking the python draped across his lap, looking like a predator savoring the hunt.

Excuse me?

Alex, save me.

Brian screamed inside.

A pen appeared almost instantly.

Wynne caught it between her fingers, spinning it once, smooth and effortless.

“I’ve got one more question, Mr. Cromwell.”

She met his gaze directly.

“You’re really willing to spend a hundred million just to keep me here with this kid? Even if I turn out to be trouble?”

She was giving him an out, and giving herself one too.

Because something in her bones—memory or not—told her one thing:

If she took the money, she’d see it through.

Jerome didn’t hesitate.

A black card slid across the table.

No-limit. International.

“One hundred million,” he said flatly. “PIN is six zeros.”

Wynne’s lips curved. Her eyes lit up.

“Then I want one more thing.”

“Say it.”

No hesitation. No resistance.

“I want into Inber Academy.”

The top private school in the city.

She was going.

“No problem.”

Easy.

Too easy.

Wynne didn’t hesitate anymore. She signed decisively.

“Deal.”

My meal ticket is secured.

“Mr. Cromwell—”

Alex’s voice cut in sharply.