Panic surged through her, and she broke into a run.
In her haste, she stumbled, and the keys slipped from her grip, sliding beneath the car.
Lyra hit the ground hard, her palms scraping against the pavement, but she barely noticed as the echo of footsteps grew louder.
Too many, too close.
Lyra lunged for her keys, praying she still had time to run, but blinding flashes erupted before she could reach them.
The air filled with shouts.
"Miss Ashford! Is it true the wedding's off?"
"Did you call it off or did Mr. Arden?"
"Is it because of another man?"
"Doctor, are you still seeing him?"
Questions fired from every direction, their voices overlapping, became a blur of noise and light.
Lyra shielded her face with her hands and tried to get to her feet, but her legs wouldn't obey.
"Why are you doing this?" she shouted over the chaos. "I'm not your story! Leave me alone!"
Another camera flashed inches from her face as her plea vanished into the noise. They swarmed closer, relentless, their questions biting through the din.
Lyra felt the walls of panic closing in. Unnoticed, a tall man in a dark trench coat pushed his way through the crowd.
"That's enough. Step back." A deep, calm voice came from behind them. There was quiet authority in his tone. No one seemed to recognize him, yet his presence drew uneasy glances.
Someone asked, "Who is he?"
"Is that your new lover, Miss Ashford?"
The question sliced through the air, followed by a frenzy of camera flashes. The question made him pause, that every reporter seemed so desperate to dig into her life.
He stopped beside Lyra, offering his hand.
"Are you alright?"
Lyra stayed silent, her body shaking so violently she could barely stay upright beneath the flashing lights.
Rowan frowned slightly. Without a word, he stepped closer and blocked the nearest camera with his shoulder.
"Enough!" he said again, this time colder.
The reporters hesitated. Some lowered their cameras, others stepped back, murmuring among themselves.
Rowan crouched and reached for Lyra's keys under the car, then gently took her arm to help her stand.
"Take a breath," he said, steadying her. "You're safe now."
Lyra blinked, still shaking. She didn't know him, but his presence steadied her.
"T—Thank you," she said, hissing softly as pain shot through her scraped palms.
Rowan's gaze flicked to her hands. A faint line appeared between his brows.
"You're hurt." He took a handkerchief from his coat and offered it to her. Lyra hesitated, unsure whether to accept, but the sting in her palms forced her to.
"It's just a scratch," she murmured.
"Small wounds get worse if ignored," he replied, his tone firm yet gentle.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he noticed, through her blue eyes, the sadness—the suffering she had endured.
Judging by the questions the reporters had thrown at her, perhaps she and that useless Lucas Arden had broken up, leaving her trapped in the aftermath of it all.
Neither of them noticed the man slipping through the crowd, a glint of metal hidden in his hand.
It all happened in an instant—the attacker lunged toward Lyra, the blade aimed at her face and her heart.
Rowan reacted on instinct, yanking her into his arms and knocking the blade aside. A sharp pain shot through his palm as the knife grazed him.
Gasps erupted around them. The reporters scattered, shouting.
Enraged, the attacker swung the blade again and again.
From a distance, Kane sprinted forward and threw a punch the moment he reached them.
The attacker dodged and swung the blade dangerously close, but Kane ducked low and slid forward, sweeping the man's legs from under him.
The attacker hit the ground hard. Kane was on him in an instant, tackling him, wrenching the blade free before the man could strike again.
"Boss, are you alright?" Kane asked, breathing hard.
Rowan flexed his injured hand, blood seeping between his fingers.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, while Lyra trembled in his arms, frozen in shock. She clutched his jacket, terrified the danger might come again, completely unaware that Rowan had been injured because of her.
Just then, Nora and Edris came running, panic written across their faces. Nora had been waiting at the hospital entrance as promised, but Lyra hadn't shown up—until the commotion reached her ears.
"Lyra!" Edris pulled her away from Rowan immediately, checking her condition before turning toward him.
"Sir, you're bleeding!" he exclaimed.
"It's nothing, just a scratch," Rowan said, hiding it, but Nora insisted he get medical attention immediately. They moved quickly back into the hospital.
Once inside, Edris attended to Rowan's bandaged hand. "It's not just a scratch, sir. This one's deep," he muttered, shaking his head.
Rowan barely acknowledged the doctor, his eyes locked across the room on Lyra. She sat trembling, while Nora tried to calm her as a nurse tended to her scratched palm.
"Dr. Ashford, here. Have a sip," the nurse said, pressing a cup into her shaking hands.
Rowan's brows rose at the title. So she was a doctor.
Lucas had been completely irresponsible, leaving her to face the consequences alone.
Then he frowned someone had clearly been after her life. If he hadn't shown up... ah, best not think about that. Thank goodness everyone was safe.
Outside the treatment room, Kane Prince gave his statement to the police officer and Chloe watched from a distance, tense.
This wasn't how she'd thought things would turn out.