CHAPTER 63: A VISIT

Dante lifted his hand. The silent signal was instantly understood. One of his men unbuckled his gun and placed it into Dante’s palm.

"No... no... please, Dante..."

"Dante, don’t shoot! I have a family..."

Both of them trembled on the floor, pleading in unison. He slowly lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The shot missed.

Laughter erupted around the room. Dante had done it deliberately—toying with his prey.

He missed, but both of his prey had already wet themselves in terror.

Then two more shots rang out in quick succession. Each of them lost an ear. Their screams tore through the room as they rolled on the floor in agony.

"Last warning," he said coldly, tossing the gun aside. "I want news of her by tomorrow."

Then Dante walked out and entered another room where several women were already waiting.

He stripped off his shirt and dropped onto the bed as they closed in around him, meant only to dull the storm simmering beneath his calm.

But none of them stirred anything in him. The frustration only sharpened his anger. With a sudden motion, he shoved them away.

"Get out!" he shouted.

The women fled the room in fear, scrambling toward the exit before they became his next victims.

But then, three of them didn’t make it. Their long blond hair had caught Dante’s attention.

"The three blondes—come here!" he snapped, curling his finger at them. They spun around, trembling, and slowly made their way back to bed.

Dante studied them one by one. Then he grabbed the one with blue eyes by the neck and shoved her down onto the bed.

The other two blondes with wrong eyes were dismissed immediately.

Just outside the room, Stott stood with his arms crossed, bewildered by his boss’s behavior.

"What’s gotten under his skin?" he asked the man beside him.

The other man scanned him from head to toe before replying, "Weren’t you the one who suggested Dante take that woman?"

Stott’s head snapped toward him. "When did I ever suggest that?"

He gave him a deadpan look. "You seriously forgot? You said she was hotter than contraband."

"That’s—" Stott was caught off guard. He had only meant that Dante should include the girl in their market dealings, not become obsessed with her.

...

Lyra stood at the doorway of the wardrobe room, hands on her hips. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the shattered mirror on the wall.

"You punched it?"

"No. My head accidentally hit it," Rowan said lazily from the bed, denying it without shame.

Footsteps approached. She climbed onto the bed and cupped his face, examining him closely.

"No injuries..."

Then she clasped his hand. A faint scratch caught her eye.

"You did punch it," she said.

"Yes, yes. Just let it go," Rowan replied, pulling her into his embrace. But Lyra escaped from his arms.

"No. How am I supposed to get my clothes now? I have work tomorrow."

Rowan sat up at once, turning to Lyra with a frustrated look. He had thought she was worried about his injuries, but she was more concerned about what she would wear tomorrow.

"Then don’t go to work tomorrow," he said. "Besides, Grandma arrives today. We’re going to stay at the Pierce estate."

Lyra hesitated, about to say something, but Rowan added, "I know you took a long leave. Lewis told me you can return to work whenever you’re ready."

"But..."

"No but. Just another two days off. Then you can go back to work."

Lyra was worried. Her workload would fall on a colleague who was already stretched thin.

But at the same time, she had never really met Rowan’s grandmother before, and this might be her only chance.

That night, Lyra stopped by an apartment complex. She was officially on leave, yet she still made time to visit a patient she was scheduled to treat.

As usual, Roger was already waiting by the time Lyra arrived.

He noticed that Lyra wasn’t alone. There was a man walking just behind her.

He bowed politely as Lyra approached. "Good evening, Dr. Ashford. How are you?"

"Good evening, Roger. I’m fine, thank you. Is Mrs. Brown inside?" Lyra asked, pointing toward Mrs. Brown’s door.

"Yes, she is. She just finished dinner, though she barely ate," Roger replied, sounding a little worried.

His gaze then drifted to the man standing behind Lyra. Slowly, his eyes returned to her.

"Did you bring a bodyguard?" he asked, his voice low but polite.

"A bodyguard?" Lyra turned around.

Rowan stood stiffly behind her, his expression anything but friendly, yellow-tinted sunglasses hiding his eyes despite the night. Dressed in a tight black shirt that showed off the strength of his arms and broad shoulders, paired with dark jeans, he really did look like a bodyguard.

Lyra clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to hold back her laughter.

Then she waved lightly as she introduced them.

"Roger, this is my husband, Rowan—Rowan, this is Roger. He lives next door and the one who always looks after Mrs. Brown."

Rowan was the first to offer his hand, and the two men shook.

He studied Rowan in silence, then glanced at Lyra. Rowan certainly looked much older than her. He cleared his throat and offered an awkward smile.

"Hello... I’m sorry. I didn’t know Dr. Ashford was married."

"It’s fine," Rowan replied calmly.

Roger rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. He had mistaken Rowan for a bodyguard earlier.

"Please, go ahead," he said, gesturing for Lyra to enter.

As usual, Roger remained outside, waiting by the open door. Moments later, Rowan stepped out of the house and came to stand beside him.

His presence was quietly intimidating, and Roger flinched slightly before forcing an awkward smile.

Rowan glanced around at the building, its worn, aging exterior impossible to ignore.

"What’s management doing?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Don’t they repair the damage around here?" There was no offense in his tone.

Roger lifted one shoulder in a small shrug.

"Well... management doesn’t have much money," he explained.

"Most people around here are low-income. Some residents don’t pay the monthly maintenance fees, and that’s why the building ended up like this."

Rowan rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment. If Lyra was going to keep returning here to care for Mrs. Brown, this place felt far too dangerous.

Maybe he should step in and inject some funds. At least enough for the management to repair the building and make it safer for her.