She's Too Busy Winning to Watch Him Cry novel Chapter 105

"Rowan, are you okay?"

Lyra forced the words out, masking her mounting dread with a thin veneer of concern.

Her feet felt like they were cast in concrete. She didn't take a single step toward him.

Rowan took a slow drag of his cigarette, his dark eyes observing her with absolute, terrifying apathy.

Security had swarmed the room minutes after the first punch was thrown, dragging Caleb out by force. Waylon had pleaded with Rowan to let it go, before rushing off to follow Caleb to the emergency room.

When Rowan didn't respond, Lyra's instinct screamed at her to turn around and run. But she knew the stakes—Caleb had just assaulted him. If she walked away now, Rowan would have the ultimate justification to completely crush Fairchild Holdings.

Her family's company wasn't nearly strong enough to survive a direct siege from the Jameson Group yet.

Every day she delayed his wrath was another day of survival.

Swallowing her pride, Lyra anchored herself to the floor and tried to sound as sincere as possible. "I am so sorry. I apologize on my brother's behalf. Is your head... alright?"

Rowan let out a low, dark scoff.

It was impossible to tell what he found so amusing.

"Do you need someone to clean that?" Lyra offered nervously. "It really should be bandaged..."

Rowan watched her standing yards away, hesitating like a cornered animal. Her mouth offered help, but her body language screamed repulsion.

He casually tossed his cigarette into a crystal ashtray. "Then come here and do it."

Lyra stiffened.

Trapped, she pasted on a compliant smile and closed the distance between them.

It was the first time in months she had willingly stepped into his personal space. She tried to project the breezy, effortless demeanor she used to rely on to defuse his moods.

But her acting skills were clearly deteriorating.

Rowan stared down at her, his eyes pitch-black. "Don't smile if it kills you that much. No one is forcing you."

The air in the office instantly suffocated her.

Suddenly, the sound of frantic footsteps echoed from the corridor, and the heavy oak doors were thrown open. Jasmine rushed into the room.

Lyra had never been so relieved to hear Jasmine's voice. She immediately dropped her hand and took a large step backward.

Rowan mirrored the movement, pulling away to sever the closeness. He looked toward the door. "You're here."

Jasmine paused, her eyes darting between Lyra and Rowan, registering how close they had just been. Then she noticed the antiseptic in Lyra's hand, and her expression smoothed into a soft, concerned mask. "Let me do that."

Right on cue, Lucas walked in, accompanied by Dr. Anderson.

"Rowan, Dr. Anderson is here to take a look at—" Lucas cut himself off, noticing Lyra. His face contorted with disgust. "What the hell are you doing here? We don't need you. Go check on Caleb."

With a real doctor present, Lyra's amateur first-aid was entirely redundant.

She didn't utter a single word in her defense. She quietly packed up the medical kit, lowered her head, and slipped out of the room.

It wasn't until she drove back to the Fairchild estate that the reality of Lucas's words hit her. Caleb wasn't home yet. Delilah was pacing the living room in a state of absolute panic.

Lyra felt the blood drain from her face. If Waylon had taken him to the hospital, and Lucas was sneering about it... it meant Caleb had suffered far worse injuries than Rowan.