She's Too Busy Winning to Watch Him Cry novel Chapter 497

Andrea Nash kept a close eye on her phone.

About half an hour later, a text from an unsaved number popped up on her screen.

The corners of Andrea's lips curved into a faint smirk, and she typed out a truthful reply.

Around nine-thirty, Lyra Fairchild slipped out of her house and rushed straight to Blackwood Manor.

The moment she walked through the door, she hurried up the stairs and told the waiting Andrea and Wesley Wade, "You two can head home now."

Wesley frowned. "Does she think I work for her or something?"

Andrea stretched her arms lazily. "Let's roll. The whole PR stunt is officially off."

Wesley stared at her, utterly bewildered, his voice rising in disbelief. "Did you leak the details to Lyra? That's flat-out betraying Mr. Jameson!"

"She asked, so I told her the truth. The very first rule in our security contract is to report everything honestly." Andrea's tone was completely flat, devoid of a single ounce of guilt.

"Reporting honestly means reporting to the employer! You gave the intel to someone else—that's basically helping the enemy. Aren't you terrified the boss is going to fire you in a fit of rage?"

"He can't fire me. If he fires me today, I'll just walk over and start working for Lyra tomorrow. Do you honestly think Mr. Jameson wants to give her another ally to help her escape him?" With that final remark, Andrea turned on her heel and walked away.

Wesley watched her retreating figure but didn't dare abandon his post. He stayed right where he was, waiting until ten o'clock just as the original plan dictated. Honestly, he had already set everything up in advance.

Not long after, his phone rang. He glanced up at the second floor, then finally turned and left Blackwood Manor.

The next morning, Lyra was nestled deeply in Rowan Jameson's arms, practically sinking into the firm, warm expanse of his chest.

Her long lashes rested against her cheeks, casting faint shadows that highlighted the exhaustion under her eyes. The bruising marks of their passion from the night before still lingered across her cheek and neck, leaving a flushed, rosy hue over her luminous skin.

The man had one long arm locked securely around her slender waist, while his other hand rested possessively beneath the nape of her neck.

As consciousness slowly drifted back to her, Lyra's eyelashes fluttered. Her voice was soft and thick with sleep. "I need to get up."

Rowan's expression was still laced with a lingering, lazy satisfaction, his voice a low, magnetic rasp from their night together. "It's still early."

Lyra held the carton and took two sips, then managed a small bite of the cheese cake.

As he pulled back onto the road, Rowan kept his eyes on the traffic and asked, "What clothing brands do you like? I'll have someone stock up for you."

Lyra gripped the paper bag tightly, lowering her gaze. "You don't need to buy anything. I'm never going to your place again."

Rowan let out a low chuckle, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "You say that every time."

Half an hour later, Lyra arrived at the Fairchild estate, planning to sneak up to her bedroom unnoticed.

But the living room lights were blazing. It wasn't Martha, who usually woke up first. It was her mother, Delilah Fairchild, sitting stiffly on the sofa. A storm of pure fury raged in her eyes, her gaze locking onto Lyra like a physical blow.

"Finally decided to come back?"

Lyra froze in her tracks, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Mom..."

Delilah took in the fact that her daughter wasn't even wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She stepped forward, her face a mask of bitter disappointment. "I really want to know—when did my daughter lose every shred of her self-respect? You told me you were seeing someone properly. You told me not to interfere, that you were an adult now. And I believed you."