Lyra stood by Old Mrs. Covington's bedside, mind reeling from what the elderly woman had just shared.
"Percival is afraid of cats," Mrs. Covington whispered, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Deathly afraid. Since he was a little boy."
"Cats?" Lyra repeated, stunned by this unexpected revelation about the intimidating CEO.
Mrs. Covington nodded. "One scratched him when he was four. He avoided them ever since." She chuckled softly. "The great Percival Covington, who faces down business rivals without blinking, runs from a kitten."
Something flickered in Lyra's memory. A young boy with dark hair, backing away from a stray cat in the park near her childhood home. Could it have been Percival? The timing seemed right—she would have been around six, which would make him seven or eight. The memory was hazy, but the boy's terrified expression remained clear in her mind.
"I might have known someone like that once," Lyra murmured.
