Lyan's expression sharpened immediately, the fatigue in his posture replaced with alertness. He leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands on the desk as he nodded for Andrew to continue.
Andrew stepped closer, a thick folder in hand, and placed it neatly on the desk in front of Lyan. "I compiled everything I could find, sir. It wasn't easy, but I managed to pull some strings. There's a lot in here you'll want to see."
Sam, still leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow and exchanged a curious glance with Lyan. "Looks serious," Sam said, his tone light but inquisitive. "Care to share what's going on?"
Lyan ignored the question for the moment, flipping open the folder to skim its contents. His eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the first few pages, his jaw tightening subtly. Whatever was in the report clearly had his attention.
After a few moments, he glanced up at Andrew. "Good work. Now, find every way possible to rescue her mother. Use a security company or mercenaries—I don't care. Just help that woman at all costs."
Tell the driver to get ready. I will be down in a minute.
Andrew nodded sharply, "Understood, sir. I'll get on it immediately," he said, turning to leave.
As the door closed behind Andrew, Sam leaned forward in his chair, his curiosity now thoroughly piqued. "Her mother? You've definitely got my attention now, Lyan. Since when do you go out of your way like this for someone?"
Lyan let out a breath, his eyes still fixed on the folder.
"Since it became necessary," he said curtly, leaving no room for argument.
Sam smirked, clearly intrigued but knowing better than to push too hard. "You're a mystery, Lyan. But if you need backup, you know where to find me."
Lyan glanced up, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk crossing his face. "Noted."
Sam leaned back again, chuckling softly. "Alright, I'll stay out of it. For now."
Lyan closed the folder with a decisive snap and stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.
"I've got things to take care of. Lock up if you leave before I return."
Sam gave him a lazy salute. "Got it, boss. Good luck with...whatever this is."
Without another word, Lyan strode out of the office, his focus unwavering. Downstairs, the sleek black car was already waiting by the curb, the driver standing at attention beside the vehicle.
As Lyan approached, the driver promptly stepped forward, opening the car door with a respectful nod. Lyan slid into the back seat, and the door closed with a soft click as the driver quickly returned to his position behind the wheel. The interior of the car was as polished and understatedly luxurious as everything else in Lyan's world—leather seats, discreet ambient lighting, and a faint scent of cedarwood.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked, glancing briefly in the rearview mirror.
Lyan's voice was tired yet composed, carrying a quiet authority. "To my house. And don't spare the speed."
"Understood, sir," the driver replied, shifting the car into motion. The vehicle moved smoothly into traffic, the tinted windows shielding its occupants from prying eyes.
Lyan leaned back in the seat, his fingers tapping lightly on the folder resting in his lap. "What am I getting myself into?" he thought.
Angela was watching TV show when she heard the faint sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Her ears perked up, and she glanced toward the window, a slight unease stirring in her chest. She muted the TV, listening intently as the low hum of the car's engine died.
Moments later, the front door opened, and Lyan stepped inside, his presence commanding even in silence. Closing the door behind him, he walked towards Angela.
Angela turned toward him from the couch, unsure of what to say. "You're back earlier than I expected," she said, her voice cautious.
Lyan set the folder down on a nearby table and met her gaze. "I had some thing else to handle, but now I need to speak with you."
Angela's stomach tightened slightly at his tone. She turned off the TV completely and stood, her movements hesitant. "Is something wrong?"
Lyan gestured toward the armchair across from the couch. "Sit. There's something we need to discuss."
Angela obliged, her heart thudding in her chest as she waited for him to continue. Lyan sat across from her, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.
"Let's just say I did a little investigating. And what I found doesn't quite suit a beautiful woman like you."
He paused.
Angela's breath hitched, her fingers tightening slightly on the armrest of the chair. She forced herself to maintain eye contact with Lyan, though her heart raced. "What do you mean?" she asked cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lyan's gaze hardened. He didn't raise his voice, but there was a chill beneath every word.
"You're not ready to tell me the truth," he said quietly. "So I'll say what I've found out."
Angela sat still, her hands gripping the armrest, but her silence spoke louder than denial.
"I know about your connection to Mr. Anthony." He paused, watching her flinch at the name. "Not just any connection. You were his mistress. A cheap side chick."
She started tearing up, but she didn't interrupt.
Lyan leaned forward slightly, his voice lower now—measured, almost grim. "I don't know exactly what you uncovered, but it must've been something you weren't supposed to see. That's why he's after you. And your mother."
He shook his head slowly.
"And you brought this here—into my home—without saying a word. You asked me to help. To protect you. But you left out the most important part."
A beat of silence passed between them.
"You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, Angela."
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She hadn't been prepared to hear it spoken aloud, especially not from him, and it stung in ways she hadn't anticipated.
Lyan watched her closely, his gaze unwavering. There was no anger in his expression, but there was a certain finality to his words. He wasn't asking for an explanation—he was simply stating facts, as he saw them. His tone was tinged with disappointment.
"Angela…" His voice softened, though the tension still lingered. "I get it. You were trying to protect yourself and your mother by hiding the truth. But this situation is bigger than that, and I can't help you if you don't trust me. Not completely. Don't you see you exposed me to danger by asking me to help your mom?"
"Trust me, Lyan, it's not what you think," Angela interjected, her voice shaking slightly, the words spilling out in a rush. "I never wanted you involved. But I... I couldn't let them hurt my mother. And Anthony—he's not just some mafia boss. He's... dangerous in ways I can't explain."
"It's not what you think. It's not what it looks like!" Lyan cut her off with a bitter laugh. "That's what everyone says when they're caught." His tone was cold, his eyes sharper than ever. "Try something else. That excuse is worn out. Old-fashioned."
He took a step back, running a hand over his face, like he was trying to hold something in.
"You say you can't explain," he muttered, his voice quieter but no less biting. "So how the hell am I supposed to understand if you won't even try?"
Angela shook her head as tears fell uncontrollably on her cheeks.
Lyan looked at her for a long, heavy second. Then he straightened his posture, every word that followed calm and final.
"You have ten minutes to leave my property." His voice didn't waver. "Your mother's already in his hands. If Anthony's after you too, I'm not risking this place for secrets you won't share."