She's Too Busy Winning to Watch Him Cry novel Chapter 525

Lyra hadn't expected that even after she made it explicitly clear she wouldn't get pregnant this month...

Rowan still kept her locked up.

He came every single day.

Her resistance only fueled his anger, forcing her to take him until her entire body trembled. The massive difference in their strength meant she could only passively endure it.

Rowan drove different cars every day. He must have encountered some minor trouble on his way here. Usually, he arrived around four or five in the afternoon.

Life in the mountains was suffocatingly dull. With absolutely nothing to do, Lyra sat in front of the cabin with the Matron, weaving bamboo baskets. Her fingertips sluggishly wrapped the bamboo strips. She didn't dare stop; the moment her hands rested, an endless, suffocating wave of emptiness would swallow her whole.

Chickens roamed the dirt patch beside the cabin, pacing slowly and occasionally pecking at scattered grains. The surroundings were so quiet that the only sound was the wind rustling through the tea leaves.

The Matron had been watching Lyra closely every day, and her initial prejudice had quietly dissolved. This girl's refined upbringing was etched into her very bones; she only ever unleashed her temper and grievances on the big boss. Even in the first few days, when the Matron mistakenly assumed she was just a mistress meant for entertainment and treated her harshly, the young girl never talked back, quietly enduring all the difficulties.

As time passed, the Matron grew quite fond of her. The girl's complexion was radiant and luminous, as delicate as fresh tofu. Compared to the Matron's own hands—rough, calloused, and cracked from years of picking tea leaves and weaving baskets—she was almost afraid her coarse skin would scratch or hurt the girl whenever they accidentally brushed against each other.

No wonder the boss clung to her the second he saw her. When those predatory eyes locked onto her, it looked as if he wanted to swallow her whole.

At that moment, the sound of an approaching car echoed from the mountain path. Soon after, Rowan's Mercedes parked out front. He cut the engine, pushed the door open, and stepped out. His gaze landed on Lyra, his tone laced with a layer of frost. "I see you've adapted quite well to spending your days with the chickens."

That remark completely pierced through the grievances Lyra had been suppressing for days. She threw down the bamboo strips, charged at him, and wildly pummeled his chest with her fists, choking on her sobs without saying a word.

Rowan easily caught her hands, which were covered in red marks from the bamboo. His brows furrowed slightly. "Do you still want your hands? Stop weaving this garbage. Find something else to do."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Lyra yelled. "I want to go home!"

He tightened his arms, trapping her against his chest. Looking down at her red, tear-filled eyes, he said flatly, "Throwing a tantrum the second you see me? I thought you were doing perfectly fine and had adapted."

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