She's Too Busy Winning to Watch Him Cry novel Chapter 212

She prayed for the Fairchild family to find peace, and for their business to survive this storm.

She repeated the wishes over and over, her mind drifting into a haze.

She sat there in a trance for what felt like hours until an older woman approached with slow, measured steps. "Are you here to seek guidance or offer a prayer, my child?" asked Abbess Helena.

The Abbess lowered her gaze, taking in Lyra's exhausted state and the scratches on her pale skin that were now irritated and bleeding slightly.

Lyra swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. "I don't need guidance. I just need a miracle for my mother."

"Would you like me to read your fortune?"

"No, thank you."

When Lyra was a little girl, Arthur had taken her to a fortune teller.

After reading her charts, the man had refused any payment. Instead, he had shoved a wad of cash into her small hands—a bizarre gesture that had infuriated her father.

The memory of her dad made her bloodshot eyes well up with fresh tears. "I just want my family to be safe," she whispered hoarsely.

Abbess Helena nodded slowly. The look of sheer desperation on Lyra's face told her everything she needed to know about the heavy burdens this young woman carried.

Remembering there was another guest seeking counsel elsewhere in the temple, the Abbess quietly backed away, leaving her to her prayers.

Lyra stayed in her spot, unmoving.

Suddenly, her vision blacked out, and she collapsed entirely in front of the altar.

Just as she hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught her, scooping her up effortlessly.

Through her fading consciousness, Lyra caught a blurry glimpse of Rowan's face.

"Rowan," she murmured, her pale lips barely moving. "Why don't you just drop dead?"

If he were dead, maybe the Fairchild family could finally breathe again.

The man's tall frame went completely rigid.

There was a time when she used to look at him with endless adoration, her voice sickly sweet as she called his name.

Then it shifted to a polite, distant "Mr. Jameson."

And now, she had nothing left for him but venomous hatred—

Why don't you just drop dead.

Shadows from the trees outside danced across the dim room. Rowan slowly pulled his gaze away from her pale, scratched face, his expression unreadable.

Abbess Helena walked into the room.

Rowan stepped out with her, keeping his voice low as they moved into the corridor. "I left her a string of prayer beads. Please tell her it was a gift from the temple. We have... bad blood. If she knows they're from me, she'll probably throw them away."

The Abbess nodded knowingly. "But the blessing you sought for yourself today, placing it on this young lady..."

"It's fine," Rowan replied dismissively.

Without another word, he turned and walked out into the pouring rain, leaving the temple without a backward glance.

An hour later, the sharp ping of a phone notification broke the silence, jolting Lyra awake.

Her dreams had been a messy blur of past traumas.

When she opened her eyes and found no sign of Rowan anywhere, she figured his presence had just been another twisted nightmare.

The man didn't believe in God or karma. There was zero chance he'd be caught dead in a place like this.

Lyra sat up, her heart doing a panicked flutter when she realized she was wearing a strange white T-shirt instead of her own wet clothes.

Her phone rang again, buzzing aggressively on the bedside table. She scrambled out of bed and snatched it up.

It was Caleb. "Mom is awake," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "She recognizes us again."