"What do you mean you can't come?" Mrs. Covington's voice rose in indignation as she glared at her phone. "I'm being harassed by that awful Moreau family!"
Lyra sat across from her, sipping her tea and watching the elderly woman with growing fascination. The revelation that she was indeed the infamous "Old Mrs. Covington" had transformed her from a sweet, confused lady into a force of nature.
"Fine," Mrs. Covington huffed into the phone. "At least send the car. I'm with a friend and we need transportation." She paused, listening. "Yes, that friend. The one I told you about." Another pause. "No, I won't be going home just yet. We have plans."
She ended the call with a dramatic sigh. "Men! Even my favorite grandson can be impossible sometimes."
"Your grandson?" Lyra asked carefully.
"Yes, Percival. Everyone calls him the cold-blooded CEO, but to me, he's still my little Puppy." Mrs. Covington's eyes softened at some distant memory.
Lyra nearly choked on her tea. "Puppy?"
"Oh yes." Mrs. Covington chuckled. "He had these big eyes as a child. Like a lost puppy. The name stuck, though he'd fire anyone who dared use it now."
Lyra tried to reconcile the image of Percival Covington—the ruthless businessman whose name struck fear throughout Oceanion's corporate world—with the nickname "Puppy." It seemed impossible.
"I'm supposed to meet your grandson today," Lyra said cautiously. "The one I've been texting."
Mrs. Covington's eyes widened. "You are? How wonderful! He needs more friends. Works too hard, that boy."
Lyra wondered if she should clarify that they weren't exactly meeting as friends, but Mrs. Covington continued speaking.
"I'll come with you to work. Can't let you abandon me after what happened." Her tone brooked no argument. "Besides, I want to make sure you actually meet him. He's very good at avoiding people."
That much was true, Lyra thought. She'd spent the entire weekend trying to track down information about Percival Covington without success.
An elegant black car pulled up outside the café. The driver, a serious-looking man in a tailored uniform, opened the door for them.
"Where to, Mrs. Covington?" he asked.
"Take us to Iris Labs," Mrs. Covington instructed before Lyra could speak.
The driver nodded, not questioning why the Covington matriarch was visiting a mid-sized research laboratory.
Inside the car, Lyra checked her phone. The mysterious "Grandson" had sent her a message: "Had to handle something urgent. Will meet tonight instead. Address to follow."
She typed back: "That works. I'll be bringing your grandmother with me."
His response came instantly: "My grandmother?"
"Yes, she's with me now. Said she's worried about you."
There was a long pause before his reply: "Fine. Take care of her."
Lyra put her phone away, feeling strangely victorious. She had finally gotten a reaction from him.
At Iris Labs, Lyra escorted Mrs. Covington into the building. Her colleagues looked up in surprise as the elderly woman inspected everything with keen interest.
"Dr. Payne," her lab manager called out. "The preparations for the charity event tonight are complete. Will you be attending?"
Lyra's head snapped up. "Charity event?"
"The Covington Group's annual fundraiser. They're showcasing new sustainable technologies." He handed her an invitation. "We received this last week. I assumed you knew."
Lyra examined the elegant card. The Covington Group's annual charity gala—where all major executives were guaranteed to attend. Including Percival Covington himself.
"I'll be there," she said decisively.
Mrs. Covington peered at the invitation. "Oh! Percival always attends this. You'll definitely meet him tonight."
Lyra smiled, feeling the first spark of genuine optimism. "Perfect."
Hours later, Lyra stood in the gleaming ballroom of the Oceania Grand Hotel, scanning the crowd for Percival Covington. Mrs. Covington had insisted on returning home to prepare, promising to meet Lyra at the gala.
Lyra had chosen a simple black dress that highlighted her slender figure without drawing too much attention. She wasn't here to make a statement; she was here to finally confront her so-called husband.
A tall man in an impeccable suit approached her. "Dr. Payne? I'm Roman Sinclair, Percival Covington's executive assistant."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Where is Mr. Covington?"
Roman's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Mr. Covington sends his regrets. He's unable to attend tonight due to an urgent business matter."
"That's convenient," Lyra replied coldly.
"Mr. Covington asked me to handle any laboratory concerns you might have." Roman's tone made it clear he knew exactly why she was there—and it wasn't about laboratory business.
"I need to speak with him personally," Lyra insisted.
"That won't be possible." Roman's smile remained fixed. "Mr. Covington is extremely busy."
"Too busy for his own wife?" Lyra kept her voice low.
Roman's expression hardened. "Ms. Moreau—or is it Dr. Payne? You seem to have multiple identities—Mr. Covington has authorized me to inform you that he has no wife. If you continue to spread such rumors, legal action will be taken."
Lyra felt her temper rising. "I have a marriage certificate."
"Many documents can be forged," Roman replied smoothly.
Lyra leaned closer. "Tell your boss I'm not going away. If he won't come to me, I'll go to him."
"That would be inadvisable." Roman's voice dropped to a warning whisper. "The Covington Group has excellent security."
"We'll see about that," Lyra said, turning away.
She left the gala, determination hardening in her chest. If Percival Covington thought he could avoid her forever, he was about to learn how persistent she could be.
The next morning, Lyra stood outside the main Covington Group factory complex. Her sources indicated Percival Covington was conducting an inspection today.
The security guard at the gate looked at her dubiously. "I need to see your credentials, ma'am."
Lyra presented her Iris Labs ID. "I'm here for the renewable energy consultation."
The guard checked his list. "I don't see any Iris Labs appointments today."
"It was arranged directly through executive management," Lyra lied smoothly.
"I'll need to verify that," he said, reaching for his phone.
Lyra knew she had only seconds before her ruse was discovered. She reached into her bag and pulled out a different ID card—this one bearing the logo of the National Energy Commission.
"Perhaps this will clarify matters," she said, her voice taking on an official tone. "I'm conducting a federal inspection of sustainable energy implementations."
The guard's eyes widened as he examined the high-level government badge. "I apologize, Dr. Payne. Please, go right in."
Inside the complex, Lyra navigated through the maze of corridors, following signs toward the executive offices. She'd almost reached the main building when she spotted him through a large window—Percival Covington himself, tall and imposing in a tailored suit, reviewing documents with several engineers.
Their eyes met for a split second across the distance. His expression registered momentary shock before hardening into something unreadable.
Before Lyra could move, Roman Sinclair appeared at Percival's side. He followed his boss's gaze, spotted Lyra, and immediately pressed a button. The blinds snapped shut, cutting off her view.
Moments later, security guards approached from both sides.
"Dr. Payne," one said firmly. "You'll need to come with us."
Outside the building, Roman Sinclair was waiting, his expression thunderous.
"That was an impressive display of determination," he said coldly. "Using a federal ID to gain unauthorized access is a serious offense."
"The ID is genuine," Lyra replied evenly. "I do consult for the Commission."
Roman's jaw tightened. "Mr. Covington has no interest in meeting you. Your harassment ends now."
"It's not harassment to want to speak with one's husband," Lyra countered.
Roman leaned closer, his voice dropping to a furious whisper. "Listen carefully. If you ever manage to meet with Mr. Covington face to face, I will personally eat excrement on a live broadcast. That's how confident I am that he wants nothing to do with you."
Lyra stepped back, momentarily stunned by his vehemence.
"Now leave," Roman ordered, "before I have you escorted off the property in handcuffs."
Defeated for the moment, Lyra retreated. As she walked to her car, she pulled out her phone and messaged the "Grandson" again.
"I need your address. Your grandmother wants to see you tonight."
The response came after several minutes: "No. One Manor, Covington Estate."
Lyra froze, staring at the message in disbelief. No. One Manor—the legendary Covington family residence where only the most elite members lived.
The pieces suddenly clicked into place. The mysterious grandson she'd been texting with... was Percival Covington himself.