Lyra's POV

Mira hadn't spoken a word since yesterday, and it was already driving me crazy. I wasn't new to silence: some kids took time to warm up,but this wasn't the kind of quiet that came from shyness or grief. This was a silence that felt dangerous, like if she opened her mouth, something might break.

I found her in the same spot by the window, knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the rain like it was the only thing keeping her connected to the world. She'd barely moved since this morning. I'd tried getting her to eat something earlier, but she shook her head, her eyes dull, like I didn't even exist.

"Hi mira?" I crouched down next to her, keeping my voice soft. "Do you want to talk?"

Nothing. Not even a glance in my direction.

I let out a breath, frustration bubbling beneath my calm exterior.

Come on, Lyra. Don't lose it.

This was her space, her pain. I couldn't force her to let me in. But damn it, if she kept this up, we were going to be two ghosts haunting this house, staring out the window and watching the world pass us by.

I sat down beside her, pressing my back against the cold glass. The rain tapped against the window like it was trying to say something neither of us wanted to hear. "It's still raining," I said. "Do you like the rain?"

Silence. Again.

I was really trying, but something about Mira's silence made me feel like I was failing. In all my years of working with kids, I had never met one this shut down. Grieving kids cried, or they screamed, or they lashed out. Mira? She felt like a dying star,burned out, barely holding together.

I leaned my head against the window, staring at the ceiling. Don't push her, Lyra. Don't.

"You want to read a book?" I asked, breaking my own rule. "I saw you looking at them yesterday. Maybe we could read one together?"

Mira stayed frozen, her tiny arms wrapped around her legs. Her small frame looked even smaller against the backdrop of this humongous mansion. I reached for one of the books beside her, flipping through the pages. It was a fairy tale: the kind with talking animals and happily-ever-afters that felt like they belonged in a world far away from this one.

I began reading, my voice hollow but steady. "Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a little fox who said-"

"Foxes don't talk."

Her voice was so faint, so fucking fragile, I almost didn't catch it. My heart kicked in my chest. I looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. She still hadn't moved, still hadn't looked at me, but she'd spoken.

"You're right," I said, my voice softening. "In real life, they don't. But in stories, sometimes they do. That's what makes them... interesting."

Nothing. Her face was still a mask, but I saw a flicker of something cross her eyes, a spark of life behind the walls she'd built.

Okay, good. It was something. I could work with something.

I closed the book and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. The silence settled between us again, heavy and tense, like the air just before a storm hits.

"You know," I said after a long pause, trying again, "when I was your age, I used to sit by the window just like you. The rain made me feel... like the world was peaceful. Like I had space to think."

Mira's eyes flickered toward me, the briefest of glances, then back to the window. My chest tightened. I didn't know if I was reaching her, but something told me to keep going.

"What do you think about when you watch the rain?" I asked, my voice low and gentle. "Does it help you think?"

For a long, torturous moment, she didn't say anything. I could feel the mansion itself watching us, judging my every failure to break through.

And then, finally, her tiny voice cracked through the silence.

"Mommy liked the rain."

Her words hit me like a sucker punch. It was the first time she'd mentioned her mother, and fuck, I wasn't ready for it. I wasn't ready for the raw pain that rippled in those four little words.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah? I bet she did. It's peaceful, isn't it?"

Mira didn't respond, but she didn't retreat either. I watched her fingers, how she clung to the hem of her sleeve like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

I wanted to reach out, to touch her shoulder, to tell her it was okay, but I didn't. I knew better. I'd seen this kind of pain before: the kind that sits in your gut and makes you want to disappear. I couldn't fix it for her. All I could do was sit here, be here, and hope that somehow it was enough.

The door creaked behind us, and I knew without turning around that it was Leo. He didn't say anything: he never did when it came to Mira, but I could feel his eyes burning into my back. He was waiting for something, some sign that I was helping, that I wasn't just a fucking waste of space sitting on the floor with his broken niece.

I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. His face was unreadable, carved from stone, but there was something in his eyes, something sharp and dangerous. He didn't trust me yet. Maybe he never would.

But for now, he nodded and disappeared back down the hallway, leaving me alone with Mira again.

The tension in my shoulders didn't ease until I heard his footsteps fade completely. I turned back to Mira, who hadn't even flinched at the sound of the door. She was still in her bubble, still wrapped up in her own private storm.

"Mommy used to say the rain made the garden grow," she whispered suddenly, so soft I almost missed it.

I blinked, my heart catching in my throat. "Your mommy sounds like she was really smart."

Mira didn't respond. She just kept staring out the window, her little hand pressing against the glass as the rain continued to fall.

Minutes ticked by, but I didn't dare move. I stayed beside her, letting the quiet wash over us. I'd learned something in my years of working with kids: sometimes, silence wasn't about giving up. Sometimes, it was about holding space.

The rain outside blurred the world into muted grays and greens, and for a brief moment, it felt like the whole world had paused. Mira didn't look at me again, but she didn't pull away either.

And as I sat there beside her, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain, I realized something. Breaking through to Mira wasn't going to be a quick battle or an easy win. It wasn't going to be about big moments or dramatic breakthroughs. It was going to be about these small, fragile cracks in her armor: the quiet seconds where she let me glimpse the world she'd been hiding.

I didn't know how long it would take to get through to her, to get her to trust me, to let me in. I didn't know if I'd ever fully get through to her. But I wasn't giving up. Not yet, I'd stay. I'd wait. Not when she'd finally said something, anything.

Maybe the rain would wash something clean between us. Maybe it wouldn't.

But I was here. I was fucking here, and that had to count for something.

Lyra's POV

I hadn't seen Adrian Blackwood in years, and honestly, I'd hoped I never would again. But the moment I walked into the café near the Weston estate and spotted him at the counter: casually ordering coffee like he didn't have the weight of a dozen secrets on his shoulders,my heart nearly stopped.

What the hell is he doing here?

For a moment, my body locked up, panic brushing over me like a cold wind. Every instinct screamed for me to turn around and leave, but I couldn't move. My feet froze in place, and my gaze locked on him as the past crashed over me, impossible to escape. Adrian Blackwood wasn't just someone I could walk away from. He was a shadow that clung to me, a ghost I thought I'd buried deep.

Apparently, ghosts had a way of finding you.

The years hadn't changed him much. He still moved with that graceful danger, dark hair swept back, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Time hadn't worn him down; it had sharpened him, made him more refined. More dangerous. And his eyes,those piercing, icy blue eyes that used to see through every lie, every mask I'd tried to wear, landed on me.

He smiled. That slow, smug grin that had haunted too many of my nights. It still sent a shiver down my spine, but this time, I didn't let it show.

"Lyra Carson," he said, his voice as smooth and lethal as ever. "Now this... this is a surprise."

My stomach twisted. I forced myself to take a breath, straightening my spine even as my heart pounded like a drum. "Blackwood."

His name left my lips like a curse, but it only seemed to amuse him. He stepped closer, the sharp lines of his face catching the soft light filtering through the café windows.

"I wasn't expecting to run into you in a place like this," he said, glancing around the quiet café with an air of disinterest. "A bit... dull, don't you think?"

His tone might've been casual, but I knew better. Adrian didn't do "casual." Every word was deliberate, calculated to get under my skin.

"What are you doing here, Blackwood?" I snapped, cutting to the point. I didn't have time for his games. I had enough on my plate: Mira's silence, Leo Weston's impossible expectations, and now this? I didn't need Adrian stirring up old wounds.

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What? A man can't grab a cup of coffee in peace?"

"Not here. Not this close to where I work," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You don't just stumble into places, Blackwood. I know you. What do you want?"

His smile widened, dark and knowing. And that was all the confirmation I needed: this wasn't a coincidence.

"You really do know me well. I've been looking for you, actually," he said, his voice dipping lower. The way he said it, soft and deliberate, sent a chill down my spine.

My breath hitched, but I forced my expression to remain calm. Looking for me? The words echoed in my mind, setting every nerve on edge. "Why would you look for me? and now you've found me. Now leave."

Adrian's eyes glinted with amusement, his smirk deepening. "Come on, Lyra. That's no way to greet an old friend, is it?"

"We were never friends."

He laughed, the sound low and dangerous, curling through the air like smoke. "You know, you used to be better at pretending."

The words hit harder than I expected. Adrian had always known how to twist the knife, how to find the weak spot. But I wasn't that girl anymore, and I wasn't about to let him drag me back into whatever game he was playing.

I crossed my arms, holding my ground. "Whatever it is you think you're doing, whatever you want from me, forget it. I'm done with you. I'm done with your lies and shit."

For a moment, his smile faltered. The mask he wore,the charm, the arrogance slipped just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the real Adrian. The one who played dirty, the one who played me who made people disappear when they became inconvenient.

His voice dropped, low and sharp. "You think you can just walk away from it all, Lyra? From me?"

"I already did," I said, keeping my voice steady even as my heart raced.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, his eyes narrowing as they raked over me. There was anger there, but also something else: something possessive, like I was a loose thread he couldn't stand to leave untied.

"You were always too naive," he said, stepping closer. His presence loomed over me, suffocating. "You think working for Weston means you're free? You've just traded one leash for another."

My chest tightened. The way he said it, like he knew, sent panic crawling up my spine. "You don't know anything about me."

He tilted his head, his smile returning: sharp and predatory. "I know more than you think, Lyra. You didn't just walk away from our world. You walked into a whole new mess. And trust me, Weston's leash is a lot tighter than you realize."

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. "Whatever you think you know, keep it to yourself. Stay the hell away from me, Blackwood."

His smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew darker, more infuriating. "Stay away? Sweetheart, you know it's never that simple."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "No matter how far you run, you'll never be free from it. From me."

I wanted to shove him away, to tell him he was wrong, but the words caught in my throat. Adrian Blackwood had always known how to make me feel cornered, trapped, like I was playing a game I could never win.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my skin. "You don't get a choice, Lyra."

My body locked up, every instinct screaming to fight back, but I held my ground. I wouldn't let him see my fear.

Adrian stepped back, his smirk as smug as ever. "I'll see you soon," he said, his tone laced with promise. "This isn't over."

I glared at him, my voice shaking as I forced the words out. "It is for me."

He chuckled, shaking his head like I'd just said something ridiculous. "You can tell yourself that all you want, but deep down, you know the truth." His eyes locked onto mine, cold and calculating. "You never really left."

With that, he turned and walked out, the bell above the door jingling as it closed behind him.

The moment he was gone, I exhaled, the tension in my chest finally easing enough to breathe. But my hands were still shaking, my heart still racing as I stared at the door.

Adrian Blackwood was back. After all these years, after everything I'd done to escape, he was here, digging up the memories I'd spent so long trying to bury. And he was right. I hadn't really escaped.

Not when I was still trapped in this world. Not when I was still pretending I could leave it behind.

I pressed my palms against the table, trying to steady myself, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. Adrian didn't just show up for no reason. He wanted something.

Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

And as much as I wanted to believe I could walk away, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered the truth.

I wasn't free. I never would be.

Leo's POV

Blood and sweat hung in the air like cheap cologne. The man kneeling in front of me reeked of fear, his hands trembling as he pushed the duffel bag forward. The zipper strained against the crumpled mess of cash inside, as pathetic as the man himself.

"Is this a joke?" Matteo's voice cut through the silence beside me, cold and sharp. The kind of cold that made men like this piss themselves.

The thug swallowed hard, wiping his face with a shaking hand. "I-it's all I could get, I swear-"

I silenced him with a look. His mouth snapped shut, terror flickering across his face as his knees scraped against the concrete floor. Good. Let him squirm. Let him feel it.

This wasn't personal. This was business. And in my business, there were no second chances. The rules were simple: You pay. You respect. You don't fuck with me.

I crouched down, grabbing the duffel. The weight of it was wrong. I knew it the second I lifted it. Too light. My jaw tightened, and I tossed it to Matteo without a word.

Matteo unzipped it, sifting through the bills like he was sorting trash. His lips curled in disgust as he grabbed a handful of crumpled twenties, letting them fall to the floor.

"You're short," Matteo growled, his voice low and menacing. "Three hundred grand short."

The thug's eyes widened, his face draining of color. "I-please, Mr. Weston, I'll get the rest. I just need more time-"

Time. They always begged for time.

"Look at me," I said, my voice quiet, controlled. It cut through the room like a blade. The man flinched but obeyed, his wide, panicked eyes locking with mine. He was trembling like a cornered animal, and I could see it: the wheels turning in his head, calculating how far he could run. He didn't realize it was already over.

"You came into my city," I began, standing up slowly, keeping my gaze locked on him. "You made a deal. You failed to deliver. That's not how this works."

"I-I have a family," he stammered, desperation dripping from every word. "Please, I'll get the money, I swear-"

"Everyone has a family," I said, brushing off his plea like dust from my suit. "It doesn't make you special. It just means more people to cry when you're gone."

Before he could say another word, Matteo stepped forward. His movements were calm, deliberate, and utterly merciless. He pulled out his gun with the kind of casual grace that only came from years of practice.

The thug's eyes went wide, his body jerking back as if he could somehow escape. But there was nowhere to go. His fate had been sealed the moment he walked into my city thinking he could cheat me.

Matteo moved fast, pressing the barrel of the gun to the man's temple.

"No!" the man screamed, scrambling, his voice cracking under the weight of his terror. He barely had time to panic before....

Bang!

The shot echoed through the warehouse, loud and final. The body hit the floor with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath him as the bitter scent of gunpowder filled the air.

I didn't flinch. The rush of control, the usual satisfaction I felt in moments like this, was absent today. It should've made me feel powerful. Instead, there was just... nothing.

"Clean this up," I ordered, my voice flat as I turned toward the exit. "Send a message to his crew. They owe me three hundred grand. Make sure they understand what happens if they don't deliver."

Matteo nodded, already signaling the cleanup team as I stepped into the cold night air. The sky was pitch black, the streetlights casting long, fractured shadows across the pavement. My driver was waiting, the car's engine humming softly.

I slid into the backseat, and the door clicked shut behind me. The silence inside the car was suffocating, pressing against me as we pulled away from the warehouse. Usually, moments like these helped me think, helped me focus. But tonight, my mind was already elsewhere.

Her.

Lyra Carson.

No matter how much I tried to focus on business, on the empire I'd built brick by bloody brick, she kept invading my thoughts. It had been two days since I hired her. Two days since she stood in my office and looked me in the eye without a trace of fear. And ever since, she'd been there: in my head, under my skin.

The worst part? I didn't know if I wanted her out.

I closed my eyes, letting the hum of the car lull me into a fog. But instead of clearing my mind, it only sharpened the image of her. Those sharp green eyes, the way her voice didn't waver when she spoke to me, the quiet confidence she carried like armor.

Most people flinched under my gaze. They stammered, cowered, tripped over themselves to get out of my way. But Lyra? She didn't. She met me head-on, unflinching. And it gnawed at me. Intrigued me.

Why the hell wasn't she afraid?

The car pulled up to the estate, the towering gates creaking open as we rolled inside. The moment I stepped out and into the mansion, I felt it again,that subtle shift in the air. Her presence was like a hum beneath the surface, soft but impossible to ignore.

I found myself heading toward Mira's room without thinking, my footsteps echoing softly through the dimly lit halls. When I reached the doorway, I stopped, leaning against the frame.

And there she was.

Lyra sat on the floor beside Mira, her back to me. She was reading softly from a book, her voice low and soothing. Her fingers brushed gently through Mira's hair, the kind of tenderness that stopped me in my tracks.

Mira was listening. Actually listening. For the first time in months, she wasn't lost in her own world. She wasn't staring at the floor or retreating into silence. She was watching Lyra, her small fingers clutching the edge of her sweater as she hung on every word.

I stood there, something unfamiliar tightening in my chest. Lyra didn't know it, but she was doing what no one else had been able to do,she was reaching her. And for the first time, I saw a flicker of light in Mira's eyes, a hint of the girl she used to be before everything fell apart.

Lyra's voice softened, and she glanced up, her gaze locking with mine.

There it was again. That look.

It was calm, steady, unafraid. She didn't flinch under my gaze, didn't look away or shrink back like everyone else. Her eyes met mine like a challenge, and it made my blood hum in a way I hadn't felt in years.

I should've turned away, should've walked out of the room. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Something about the way she filled the space, the way she handled Mira with such quiet strength, made it impossible to look away. She didn't belong in this house, in my world. She was warmth and softness in a place built on cold, hard edges.

And that made her dangerous.

Because in my world, distractions got people killed.

She didn't speak, didn't break the moment, but the corner of her mouth curved upward, just slightly. Not a smile,more like an acknowledgment. She knew. She could see the effect she had on me.

And that was a problem.

A problem I needed to solve.

I straightened, forcing myself to break the spell. "Don't let her stay up too late," I said, my voice colder than I intended.

Lyra nodded, her expression unreadable, and turned back to Mira. But as I walked away, I could feel her gaze on me, a weight I couldn't shake.

I made my way to my office, the quiet clicking of my shoes against the marble floor echoing in the back of my mind. My pulse was still racing, my jaw clenched tight.

She was a distraction. A complication I couldn't afford.

And yet, as I poured myself a drink and stared out the window at the sprawling estate below, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Lyra Carson was going to be a problem.

The question was: What the hell was I going to do about it?