CHAPTER 143: A SORROW THAT FOUND NO COMFORT.

On the highway heading back to Veyport City, the Bentley cruised steadily under the night sky.

Veil leaned back in the rear seat, letting out a long, weary sigh now and then. His gaze was distant, tinged with helplessness.

"Don’t be sad. There was nothing anyone could’ve done about Dorian Wilson. Maybe... that was just his fate," Lyra said softly, gently patting his shoulder in comfort.

"Lyra... I feel awful. My heart just hurts." Veil shifted slightly, stealing a glance at her. Seeing she didn’t push him away, he laid his head against her chest, pressing his ear to her heartbeat. His voice was full of anguish. "Why? Why did it have to happen like this?"

"Maybe he didn’t want to see you lose so much money... In a way, Dorian Wilson helped you save a huge amount."

As she spoke, Lyra began gently massaging his temples, her slender fingers moving in soothing circles, searching for the right words to ease his pain.

But the moment those words left her mouth, she regretted them. It sounded too pragmatic—almost disrespectful to the memory of Dorian Wilson.

A bitter sigh slipped from her lips. Her heart felt heavy.

Ever since meeting Veil, she felt like she’d changed—profoundly.

She couldn’t quite tell if it was for better or worse. But one thing she knew... she liked seeing this man, resting in her arms, smiling again.

"Maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s just how fate works," Veil replied awkwardly, forcing a wry smile.

Of course, in a situation like this, he had to go along with Lyra’s comforting words.

He couldn’t exactly admit the real reason behind his sighs—that he hadn’t gained any villain points from Mia.

And Lyra... she wouldn’t be able to understand the kind of frustration that brought. Only Kai could.

Only Kai could give him the comfort he needed when villain points were on the line.

Their conversation would go something like this:

"I just... I feel empty. Why didn’t I get the usual villain point payout after sleeping with Mia?"

"Mia... was it her first time?"

"Yeah."

"If you had the chance to do it all over again... would you?"

"Definitely."

And just like that, Veil would feel at peace again.

...

Riiiiing...

The shrill ring of a phone echoed from the back seat of the car, abruptly snapping Veil out of his satisfied stupor.

Lyra pulled her phone from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and without a second thought, silenced the call.

Veil raised his head, catching the slight change in her expression. He cleared his throat and asked curiously, "Who was that? Why didn’t you pick up?"

"Saoirse," Lyra replied, her voice tinged with mild annoyance as she set the phone to silent.

Veil blinked. "Saoirse? Why would she be calling?"

Lyra hesitated, continuing to massage his temples as she spoke. "Well... there was a little incident while you were away from Veyport City. Someone I used to know tried to pursue me. I turned him down, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He got pushy, even tried to threaten me, and I kind of snapped. Said some harsh things. He didn’t take it well and got some gangsters involved to scare me."

"Don’t be mad," she added quickly, noticing Veil’s brows knitting together.

She reached up and gently pressed her palms to his furrowed brow, as if to smooth the tension away, her voice growing warmer. "Nothing happened. I didn’t expect it to escalate like that. If I’d known, I would’ve gone straight to you. But before they could lay a hand on me, a whole different group jumped in and beat the hell out of them. I mean... black eyes, broken noses. I barely recognized them when it was over."

Veil narrowed his eyes. "Let me guess... that other group was from Saoirse?"

Lyra nodded. "Yeah, or more accurately, she led them herself. Afterward, she invited me to a café. I wanted to thank her, but she brushed it off. She said something like, ’If you’re his woman, then no one else is allowed to lay a hand on you. Otherwise, it’s an insult to him.’"

Lyra’s cheeks flushed faintly as she glanced at Veil. "After that, she gave me her contact. Told me if anything happened again, I didn’t need to call you. I could just call her."

Veil gently took her hands in his and said, "You don’t need to go to Saoirse when stuff like this happens. Just come to me."

He might be a villain, sure. But that didn’t mean he was heartless. He still had emotions—and if someone messed with the woman he cared about, how could he possibly act like it meant nothing?

"I don’t think it’ll happen again. Saoirse made it clear—she’s got ears everywhere. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have gotten there even before I realized something was wrong."

Lyra gave a bitter smile. She still found it hard to believe that the first one to rush to her rescue... was her love rival.

Maybe this was one of those strange moments where "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" actually applied.

Veil picked up on something. "So, with all that, shouldn’t you and Saoirse be on better terms now? I mean, it sounds like you two might even be... friends? Why ignore her call without even checking in?"

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Because she talks too damn much."

"You probably don’t know this, but her lies are ridiculously bad. Like, laughably obvious. One or two, I can deal with. But over time, they just wear you down."

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

Her phone buzzed again in her pocket.

Veil’s interest piqued. "Pick it up. Put her on speaker. I’ve never heard her lie before. With me, she’s always so serious—like royalty from the underworld or something."

And Saoirse was just that—ruthless, proud, unyielding.

If you wanted her to admit defeat? You’d have a better shot crushing her bones than hearing her surrender.

Lyra hesitated. "That... feels like an invasion of privacy. You asking kind of makes me want to not pick it up."

Veil sighed, his expression dimming with mock sorrow. "You’re right. It’s probably not appropriate. I shouldn’t build my joy on your suffering. That would be... unethical."

"..."

Lyra stared at him. The way he looked—like a kicked puppy—made her feel like she’d just committed a moral crime.

That look of disappointed self-restraint?

It broke her.

After a moment of guilt-driven hesitation, she pulled out her phone.

Veil immediately shook his head. "No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it."

Outwardly, he rejected the idea. Inwardly? He was grinning like a devil.

Now that’s how you take one step back... and end up three steps ahead.

Beep.

Lyra hit the answer button.

Thanks to the partition that had gone up over half an hour ago, separating the front and back seats, the confined space amplified the sound, making the incoming voice echo crystal clear.

"Lyra, have you lost your damn mind?! Ignoring my calls again? What is this, a new hobby? Want me to send some guys to grab you, drag you to a bar, get you drunk out of your mind, and film you having a breakdown for Veil to see?"

Saoirse’s voice came through loud and fierce, imperial in tone. She wasn’t making threats—she was declaring intentions, like a queen speaking to a rebellious subject.

Under normal circumstances, anyone would’ve snapped hearing something that outrageous.

But Lyra didn’t even flinch. She seemed completely unfazed, as if she’d heard it all before.

"Yeah, I know. So, what’s up?" she asked flatly.

"What, I can’t call unless I’ve got business?"

Saoirse’s voice rang through the back seat, full of that signature arrogance. "Where are you anyway? Why does it sound like your voice is echoing? Never mind, I don’t care. Oh, right—have you messaged Veil recently? Has he replied?"

Lyra glanced down at Veil, who was still lying in her lap. "Yeah."

"How long does it usually take for him to reply?"

"Sometimes a few minutes. Sometimes a few hours," Lyra answered honestly, casting a mildly accusing glance at Veil.

"Ha! Oh wow—Lyra, that’s so sad. He replies to me instantly!"

Veil looked up at her with guilt written all over his face. He quickly shook his head, frantically gesturing in protest.

It wasn’t favoritism!

He wasn’t ghosting Lyra on purpose—he was just really busy!

"Has Veil stopped by to see you recently?" Saoirse asked next, her tone suddenly gleeful.

Lyra hesitated.

"Pfft—don’t even try to lie. He’s not with you. He’s right here, in my bathroom, taking a shower. I just asked him. Thought I’d use the time to call and chat. Honestly, Lyra—trying to compete with me? You’re not even in the same league."

Lyra’s hands, which had been gently massaging Veil’s temples, came to a slow halt.

For some reason, a strange feeling of melancholy and compassion welled up in her chest.

Saoirse—the head of the Rose Division under the Black Dragon Society. A woman who commanded countless subordinates. In Veyport City’s underground world, her power was absolute. One command from her could stir the entire city into motion.

Someone like her... should be untouchable. Unshakable. Completely beyond reach for someone like Lyra.

And yet, this queen of the underworld—when it came to the game of love—had become something almost laughable... and pitiful.

Just to deal with her, Saoirse had gone out of her way to eliminate every possible variable around Lyra.

Just to force her to back out of this quiet war for Veil’s affection, Saoirse kept crafting transparent lies, repeating them again and again in hopes of provoking or mocking her into quitting.

It was sad, really.

Because Lyra had already seen through every one of those shallow, clumsy lies.

But now, with Veil resting in her lap, hearing Saoirse spout off yet another childish jab... she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pity for the woman.

A long, quiet sigh slipped from her lips.