She's Too Busy Winning to Watch Him Cry novel Chapter 476

A suffocating wave of despair crashed over her. Refusing to stop, she whipped around and sprinted in the exact opposite direction.

Finally.

Through the sea of people, she spotted the silhouette of the black leather jacket.

She tore off her heavy white cashmere coat, ignoring the biting cold, and sprinted toward him with every ounce of strength she possessed.

The icy wind whipped against her face, tangling her long hair.

Her father's image flashed in her mind—his usually towering, stoic frame rigid with grief. He had wiped away a tear, clutching a flimsy piece of newspaper before turning to face her.

She had just gotten home from school, dropping her backpack, completely stunned to see her father crying.

"Dad, why are you crying?"

"Lyra, an undercover narcotics officer was killed in action. They only release their names and photos to the public when three generations of their direct relatives have passed away, so the cartels can't go after their families. He didn't have a single vulnerability left."

"It's such a tragedy."

"If only it had been me. He was so incredibly young."

"Dad, don't say things like that."

Lyra had taken the newspaper and stared at the official portrait.

The bolded text beneath it was heavy enough to crush a person's soul.

...

The man with the mole by his eye, the one with the detached, deadened gaze.

He was the ghost. The undercover cop living a nameless existence in the darkest trenches of the criminal underworld.

The hero who had burned his life to ashes and died a brutal death in her past life.

Hot tears spilled down Lyra's cheeks.

Why?

Her mind spun in chaotic circles.

In this life, her father had died abruptly, his story ending far too soon.

But this man, who should have been dead in her previous timeline, was alive right now.

The timeline was fractured.

...

Behind her, Maddie's legs were giving out. Panting heavily, she watched Lyra completely lose her grip on reality—shedding her coat, tossing her belongings, and literally running out of her boots. Lyra was sprinting barefoot across the freezing concrete like an absolute lunatic.

The man's expression remained terrifyingly blank. The corner of his mouth twitched in the faintest of arcs. His voice was a low, steady rumble. "It's fine."

The second the words left his mouth, a heavy overcoat, still radiating body heat, was draped forcefully over her shivering shoulders.

Before Lyra could react, a pair of powerful arms clamped around her. She was hoisted into the air, scooped securely into a dominant, unyielding embrace.

Rowan lifted his gaze, meeting the undercover cop's eyes with a dark, predatory stare. His expression was utterly unreadable.

Without a single word, he tightened his grip on the trembling woman in his arms, spun around, and walked away.

He melted seamlessly into the throngs of people.

"What's wrong, Finn? Sad to see the pretty girl go?"

The thugs standing nearby had watched the entire bizarre display. They nudged him, chuckling darkly.

The man known as Finn slowly raised his eyes and shook his head slightly, burying the volatile shock tearing through his system.

Beneath his icy, dead-eyed facade, a silent scream of disbelief echoed through his mind.

He never imagined he would be saved by the exact same woman twice.

It was absolutely insane. Completely impossible.