Max couldn’t quite believe that his own iron-fisted boss—ruthless CEO—had actually dispatched him, sturdy and ever-loyal secretary Max, to ‘retrieve’ fragile little Lyra like some reluctant errand boy and deposit her back at the sprawling mansion ‘safely’ without question.
Did he honestly look like the meddling type who wanted to wedge himself squarely between a volatile alpha-omega marriage and risk getting utterly shredded in the inevitable crossfire?
He’d witnessed Silvia fire VPs for far less than this—mere phone rings during calls, five minutes’ tardiness to a briefing, or even breathing too audibly in her presence.
Her temper was legend whispered in company halls, a blade that fell swift and merciless.
Yet here he was, chauffeuring the pitiful omega wife in the sleek black company sedan with its butter-soft leather seats and tinted windows blurring the bustling city streets into abstract streaks of gray and neon.
Lyra slumped deathly pale against the reclined backrest, the clear IV port still taped itchy and raw at her inner elbow where hospital needles had pierced deep.
“She s-sent…
y-you herself?
Actually?” Lyra asked faint and raspy from the back seat, her voice scraped raw from hospital oxygen masks and lingering fever residue that left her throat like sandpaper, barely managing to lift her head an inch from the supportive headrest.
Her simple black sheath dress hung loose and rumpled now on her weakened, emaciated frame, the silk fabric pooling in hollows at her collarbone and waist.
Faint smudges of once-perfect makeup shadowed her bloodshot sapphire doe eyes, blonde bun unravelling into sweaty, matted tendrils that clung limp to her flushed temples and neck.
“Yes, ma’am—the boss did, personally and directly,” Max replied with careful neutrality from the driver’s seat, stealing a quick glance in the rearview mirror at her ghostly pallor that made her look half-ghost already.
“Direct orders straight from her office—pick you up safely from the hospital’s emergency wing, get you home secure—no detours.”
“Is your boss…
angry with m-me…
right now?
Furious?” Lyra whispered even softer, her slender fingers twisting anxious knots in her lap over and over, breaths coming in shallow, wheezy hitches that rattled faint in her congested chest.
Angry?
Odd, vulnerable question for sure—Max never quite knew the full temperature with Silvia; she was an impenetrable icy fortress, emotions locked away vault-tight behind red-eyed steel.
He cleared his throat awkward and diplomatic.
“Hard to say precisely, Ms.
Lyra.
Boss keeps everything strictly…
professional and compartmentalized.
But don’t fret over it—focus on breathing steady.”
Lyra’s porcelain face flushed a deeper, sickly red despite her overall fever pallor, looking far too pitiful slumped there like a wilted flower.
Her eyes half-lidded heavy with exhaustion, cracked lips dry and peeling from dehydration, slender body shivering faint under the sedan’s steady AC chill that raised goosebumps on her bare arms.
Did boss bully this poor omega so harshly?
Max wondered conflicted deep in his gut, stealing another sympathetic glance her way.
Plenty of possibility there; Silvia’s legendary temper could freeze blood, and Lyra seemed utterly broken-winged, fragile as glass.
“You’re still unwell right now, deep down—hospital charts said full fluids, strict bed rest minimum 48 hours.
Try closing your eyes.”
“But she…
sent you instead of coming herself…” Lyra murmured trailing, her wide doe eyes glassy with raw hurt and betrayal shimmering unshed.
“Means exactly…
she doesn’t want anyone knowing or seeing…
about me being her wife… This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
secret still locked tight forever.”
Max’s thick fingers tightened just a fraction on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, conflicted churning hard—unwavering loyalty to Silvia clashed violently with the omega’s raw, heartbreaking vulnerability spilling out like blood from a fresh wound.
He didn’t know what reassuring words to offer that wouldn’t explode back in his face later.
Silence stretched long and awkward in the humming car, broken only by the low purr of the engine, until the massive wrought-iron mansion gates loomed grand and imposing ahead, swinging open automatic on sensors.
But after a long, heavy beat of quiet, he ventured soft and genuine words.
“Don’t worry too much about it right now, Ms.
Lyra—overthinking drains you worse.
Things have a way of sorting themselves out eventually; it’ll be fine, I promise you that.”
“Fine?
You r-really think so?” she echoed doubtful and small, coughing weak into her fist with a wet rattle that made Max wince.
“Yes, ma’am—truly, it will be fine in time.
Boss takes care of her own circle, even if everything feels…
complicated and tangled right now.”
“Are you scared of her too, Max?
Honestly?” Lyra pressed faint but curious, peeking up through damp lashes with a spark of childlike wonder cutting her misery.
Max chuckled nervous and self-deprecating, rubbing his neck.
“Yes—terrified down to my bones, honestly speaking.
Everyone under her is, no exceptions.”
“Why though?
She’s just your boss, right?
Not a monster…”
“Maybe she’ll fire me on a whim tomorrow.
Or worse—throw me out like yesterday’s trash for one single wrong word or glance.
Seen it happen.”
After pulling smooth and precise into the mansion’s sweeping circular drive, gravel crunching satisfying under the low-profile tires, Max hopped out quick and professional, circling to open the rear passenger door for her with a polite, steady nod.
“Easy does it now—lean on me.”
Lyra nodded grateful but shaky, swinging her wobbly legs out slow.
He offered a strong, steadying arm without hesitation, helping her up the grand marble steps one careful at a time, one hand placed gentle but firm under her trembling elbow as vertigo made her sway dangerously twice.
The foyer stretched empty and echoing vast under crystal chandeliers, cool air whispering off polished floors.
He guided her straight to the opulent living room couch where she collapsed down grateful onto the plush velvet cushions with a soft, pained groan, immediately curling foetal tight, knees drawn up protective to her chest as shivers wracked her frame.
Max pulled out his smartphone smooth from his suit pocket, dialling Silvia’s direct private line without delay—few tense rings later, the call connected crisp.
“Hello, Boss.
Mission complete as ordered—I’ve brought her home safe and sound to the mansion, tucked in on the couch now,” he reported crisp and efficient, standing sentinel by the doorway.
Silvia snarled instant and vicious from the other end, voice crackling tinny with razor ice through the speaker. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“Does she think that little fainting stunt forced my hand into caring?
Sending you proves I give a damn now?
Maybe the manipulative brat assumes I’ll reveal our sham relationship publicly to the tabloids?”
“What?
No, Boss—not even close,” Max replied quick and firm, glancing protective at curled-up Lyra who stirred faint.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Max—I know exactly how her scheming little mind works, always playing victim.”
“Boss, let me tell you the truth—straight and unfiltered.
She’s scared—properly, deeply terrified right now.”
“Scared stiff?
Of what exactly in detail?” Silvia pressed sharp and probing, her tone thawing just a fraction with reluctant curiosity creeping in.
“Yes, she is—shaking like a leaf about it even in the car.”
“From whom precisely is she scared?
Spill every word—no holding back.”
“Of you, Boss—thinks you’ll throw her out on the street homeless any second now.”
“Is that…
so truly?” A long pause hung heavy and electric, Silvia’s controlled breath audible faint over the line.
“Yes, Boss, confirmed.
Do you…
bully her daily?
Abuse her maybe on purpose?
Just speculating here—she looks half-broken, pale as death, whispering fears.”
“No!
How dare you even entertain thinking that of me, you insolent fool?!” Silvia exploded furious and thunderous, volume peaking near shout.
“I’d never stoop to physical or emotional abuse—watch that reckless tongue before I rip it out!”
“Boss, it’s just honest speculation born from what I observed firsthand—ghostly pale skin, constant trembling, whispering about secrets and rejection…”
“I’ll crack open that thick skull of yours like a walnut and hurl your worthless brain straight into the nearest trash bin if you dare speculate on my personal life again,” she threatened lethal and vivid, but Max caught the subtle waver underneath—defensive panic, not pure unfiltered rage.
“Y-yes, Boss—message understood loud and clear, fully.
She’s resting quiet now on the couch.
Anything else you need from me here?”
“Monitor her till she’s stable enough to move alone, then get the hell out.
Report back only if fever spikes dangerously.” Click—the line went dead abrupt, leaving echo in Max’s ear.
Max pocketed the phone slow with a heavy sigh, glancing sympathetic and lingering at Lyra’s curled, vulnerable form on the couch.
“Boss says rest up proper—you’re safe here, Ms.
Lyra.
Try the water bottle.”