CHAPTER 145: A SMALL GRIEVANCE AND A LONGING FOR COMFORT

In the private lounge, Lyra hadn’t felt all that bothered at first—but after Saoirse’s string of provocations and sneering remarks, something inside her snapped.

Anger. Real, simmering anger.

Without warning, she shoved against the door.

"Move aside. Didn’t you say Veil’s in there? Then let me in and see for myself!"

"And who the hell are you, thinking you can just barge in wherever you want?"

Saoirse leaned her weight into the door with a cold snort, shooting Lyra a disdainful look.

"I told you already—Veil’s in here with me. You’ve been standing here this whole time, and not once has he said a word. Doesn’t that tell you something? If he really cared about you more... wouldn’t he have come out already, just to say something?"

She gave a smug shrug.

"Stop deluding yourself. Your little tricks? They’re way too naïve for someone like me."

Whether it was true or not didn’t matter anymore.

What mattered... was the power dynamic. And Saoirse had no intention of losing the upper hand.

She was Saoirse—the queen of the underworld. The head of the Rose Division. Feared and obeyed by everyone beneath her in Veyport City. No one questioned her authority—not even her own father, Saomi.

Lyra wanted in?

Too bad. Saoirse wasn’t about to let her.

Tired of Lyra’s distant, indifferent attitude. Acting like none of this mattered. Like she was too above it all to care about Veil’s affections.

And yet... the second she thought Veil might be here with someone else, she came running?

So much for not caring.

Saoirse was going to keep this act up, even if it meant piling lie on top of lie.

Let her get mad. Let her burn with jealousy.

Good.

She remembered exactly how angry she’d been the first time she realized Lyra had stepped into the picture. Whatever Lyra was feeling now—she deserved every second of it.

"What’s wrong? Afraid to let me in?" Lyra asked coldly, her voice eerily calm.

"Is it because Veil’s not actually in there? If he were, would you really be standing here blocking the door? You’d be clinging to his arm and parading him in front of me."

"That’s bullshit!" Saoirse snapped.

She was bluffing—and she knew it. But she couldn’t let herself back down.

And then...

Ding.

The elevator chimed.

The doors slid open.

A familiar figure stepped out, right on cue.

Veil.

He’d timed it perfectly, responding to the system notification and arriving just as the drama hit its peak.

"What’s going on here?" he asked casually.

Saoirse didn’t miss a beat. Instead of panicking, she opened the door with practiced grace and walked right up to him, looping her arm around his and resting her head lightly on his shoulder.

With a sweet, almost mocking voice, she turned back to Lyra and said,

"Didn’t I tell you? You didn’t need to sneak around the back—look what happened, you got caught. But it’s fine. I already told Lyra you came here to see me."

She gave Veil a subtle pinch at his waist, signaling him to play along.

But Lyra didn’t look the least bit surprised.

In fact, she almost looked amused.

Something wasn’t right.

Saoirse narrowed her eyes. Suspicion crept in.

That smile on Lyra’s lips... what the hell was that about?

Lyra, never one to play games, spoke plainly.

"Actually, before I came up here, I was with Veil the whole time. We rode over together... in the same car."

Saoirse froze.

She looked up at Veil, who offered her nothing more than a sheepish smile.

Her mind blanked.

Boom.

A mental explosion—pure, unfiltered mortification.

Face. Meet. Slap.

At light speed.

Her pride shattered. Her sense of superiority crumbled.

If there had been a hole in the floor, she would’ve gladly dove headfirst into it and buried herself from the sheer embarrassment.

Never again, she swore to herself. Never again would she have the nerve to face Lyra after this.

"Great! Just great, Lyra!"

Saoirse’s voice trembled with fury as her eyes locked onto Lyra, burning with a mix of rage and embarrassment.

"You came here just to watch me make a fool of myself, didn’t you? You planned this! Fine! You win!"

She shot her a final glare, turned on her heel, and stormed off.

Veil quickly grabbed her arm, trying to calm her down with a bitter smile.

"Saoirse, wait! Where are you going? This is all just a misunderstanding. Don’t get upset—let me explain."

"Explain? What’s left to explain?!"

Saoirse turned back to him, mortified, her voice rising with a mix of humiliation and heartbreak.

She had bragged. Lied. Played the part of the woman who held his heart in her hands. All that showmanship in front of Lyra—only to find out he’d been standing next to Lyra the entire time.

"Let me go! Haven’t I embarrassed myself enough already?!"

She wrenched her arm free and walked straight into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her with a deafening thud.

Veil turned to Lyra with a blank stare.

"You’d better go talk to her," Lyra said, her voice faintly apologetic.

"I don’t even know how it always ends up like this. Every time we see each other, things just... go wrong. I lost my temper. I’m sorry."

She gave him a helpless smile before heading for the elevator.

She hadn’t meant for things to escalate like this. She’d only planned to show up briefly, then leave. But the moment she saw Saoirse’s smug expression, the instinctive rivalry kicked in—and that was that.

Now only Veil remained, standing outside the bedroom door. He waited until he heard the elevator descend before raising his hand to knock.

"Saoirse, it’s me. Open the door."

He tried the handle—it was locked. Sighing, he lowered his voice and spoke with gentle persistence.

"Lyra’s gone. She’s not out here anymore."

Her voice came through the door, sharp and full of wounded pride.

"And what does that have to do with anything? You think I’m scared of Lyra?"

There was a pause, then her voice rose again, even more agitated.

"I just can’t believe you’d do this, Veil! What kind of person are you?!

You let me go on and on, talking all that crap while standing right next to her. You watched me humiliate myself and didn’t say a word. Was it not enough to mock me on the phone? You had to team up with her and show up together just to rub it in?!"

Her anger wasn’t just about the lies.

It was the deeper betrayal—the emotional blow.

Why did she call Lyra so often?

Even if she wouldn’t admit it... it was always about Veil. Trying to figure out what he was doing, who he was with. As long as he wasn’t going to Lyra, she could feel secure. Balanced.

But that balance was shattered tonight.

And in the most humiliating way imaginable.

"I didn’t plan this," Veil said quietly. "Lyra and I were handling business. I even told you beforehand—I sent a message, remember?

And the moment we wrapped it up, I came here. It’s late, Saoirse. I wouldn’t be out if it weren’t for the things you said on the phone. I came here because I care."

He wasn’t annoyed. Not even a little.

He understood perfectly well—he was the one who’d triggered this explosion between the two women. It was on him now to patch it back up.

Inside the room, he heard the soft creak of footsteps—light and cautious.

Most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Veil wasn’t most people. His physique had long passed the threshold of ordinary. To him, every sound was as clear as day.

"You’re being so loud out there. Aren’t you worried someone might hear?" came Saoirse’s annoyed voice, laced with indignation.

"I’m a lady, Veil. What do you think people will say if they hear me yelling like this?

Honestly, if I wasn’t too lazy to lock the damn door, I’d have thrown you out already."

A pause.

And in that pause... an unspoken truth.

The door wasn’t locked.

Veil pushed down on the handle. Click. It turned smoothly. He stepped inside.

There she was—perched on the edge of the bed with her back to him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her silky purple nightgown clung to every curve, made of that delicate, semi-transparent material that offered more allure than concealment.

"Saoirse~"

He wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"Don’t touch me!" she snapped, wriggling half-heartedly. Her voice was low, full of resentment.

"Isn’t Lyra your go-to partner for everything now? She just left, hasn’t even gone far. Why don’t you go after her, huh?"

The words were cold. Spiteful.

But her body didn’t resist. She stayed in his arms. Didn’t move. Let him hold her.

This wasn’t the feared queen of Veyport’s underworld.

No.

This was a woman who had just suffered a brutal loss in a game called love—and right now, all she wanted was comfort.

Veil knew it well.

If he had turned and walked away now... gone after Lyra instead... the damage would be irreversible. The wound would stay with her forever.

So he stayed.

He rested his chin on her shoulder with a smile.

"I really didn’t expect you to say all that to Lyra," he murmured.

Saoirse immediately threw her head back, bumping him lightly with the back of her skull.

"Shut up! Forget it! Just forget it ever happened! You’re really gonna sit here and rub it in when I’m already dying of embarrassment?!"

"What are you talking about?" Veil chuckled softly.

"There’s nothing embarrassing about it. Honestly, hearing you say those things... made me feel really happy.

I mean it. A woman like you—status, power, everything you’ve got—and yet you’re still constantly thinking about me? Still jealous enough to call Lyra and ask if I’ve seen her? That means something."

He leaned in and kissed her cheek gently.

"I’m sorry, Saoirse. This one’s on me. Every bit of it. If I’d known it would turn out this way, I wouldn’t have even taken that meeting.

What’s the point of doing business and making money if it just ends up making you upset?"

Saoirse scoffed.

"Easy for you to say. You think I believe a word of that?"

Her tone was dismissive—but she relaxed completely in his embrace. Her hands slid down to his, resting against her stomach. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.

A silent command.

Keep talking.

Because sometimes, words really did heal.

And she... wanted to hear more.