~ LYRA ~

"Sign here, Mr. Greg, we have a deal," I said, sliding the pen and the document across the table. "Trust me, you've made a great decision. You won't regret this." I glanced up and caught the bright grin spreading across his face.

"I know," he chuckled, eyes shining. "If there's nothing else, we should get going, our flight won't wait."

"Of course," I replied, shaking his hand with a firm, practiced grip. As they left, the contract already inked, I felt a quiet, steady pride settle in my chest. The day's work was done

It's been SIX years since the divorce, and the world I inhabit now feels both larger and smaller than the one I left behind. When my father passed, his company teetered on the brink of ruin.

I stepped into his office with nothing but raw determination and a relentless drive to prove first to myself, then to everyone who ever doubted me, that I could rebuild what had been broken.

I turned the business around, lifting it from bankruptcy to become the second‑largest empire on the planet. Billions now flow through our accounts, and each number feels like a silent affirmation of every sacrifice: the late‑night emails, the missed family dinners, the endless pressure that threatened to crush me.

The satisfaction of proving them all wrong is a fire that never quite burns out, even when my eyes sting from fatigue.

"Ms. Jones?" Mida's voice was filled with anticipation as she followed me into the office. "I can tell from that grin on your face... we got the deal, didn't we?"

I didn't say a word at first. I simply turned to her and let a slow, triumphant smile spread across my face as I gave a single, firm nod.

"Congratulations," Mida breathed, her eyes shining with genuine pride. "You do it so effortlessly, Lyra."

I had insisted she use my name when we were alone. In this cold world of business and vengeance, she was the only one I allowed to see the person behind the title.

"It only looks effortless because they don't see the work we do in the dark, Mida," I replied, as I sat on my chair.

"But thank you. We've earned this win."

I glanced at the clock, "That will be all for today. Go home and get some rest. You've worked hard for this."

"Alright, then, don't forget, your final schedule for the day is the gala at 6 p.m.," she announced, her voice crisp as the paper in front of her. I glanced at the clock, gave a curt nod, and dismissed her with a quiet, "Thank you, Mida. I won't."

The door clicked shut behind her. I rose, straightened my skirt, and walked to the floor‑to‑ceiling windows.

Below, the city sprawled, its neon veins pulsing like a living thing. It was his city, my city, the place I'd fought for, bled for, and lost so much in. I let the view settle in my chest before turning away to prepare for the night ahead.

I chose a midnight‑blue velvet gown that seemed to swallow the light around it. The dress hugged my shoulders with delicate, embroidered lace sleeves that fell into a subtle, cascading train. Its deep hue echoed the night sky, giving me a sense of calm authority.

A single, discreet slit traced the side of my thigh, not for daring, but for effortles movement as I glided across the marble floor. The back was modest, a high‑collar of silk that whispered against my skin, while a thin, silver chain of tiny pearls traced the neckline.

My brother, Michael, would be my plus‑one, my anchor in the storm of expectation.

The limousine halted at the red‑carpet entrance. Cameras flashed, a sea of lenses and shouting voices.

"Ms. Jones! Over here!"

"How does it feel to run the family empire?"

"Did the divorce affect the business?" I rolled my eyes, ignoring the personal barbs, and slipped inside with Michael at my side.

The familiar sting of intrusion mixing with a practiced patience. Michael slipped his hand into mine, grounding me. "You okay?" he whispered.

"Just... a lot of noise," I replied, forcing a smile. "They haven't seen me in six years. Let them stare."

"They'll tire soon."

Inside the ballroom, the chandeliers threw golden light across polished marble. The crowd's murmurs formed a low tide that rose as soon as the doors opened for the next guest..

He nodded, but his eyes lingered on the crowd. "I heard the Whites might be here tonight."

My fingers tightened around the glass I was holding. The name sent a jolt through me. "Probably just a rumor," I said, though my pulse told a different story.

A waiter approached with a tray of champagne. "Ms. Jones?"

I took a glass, raised it to my lips, and the doors at the far end swung open. A murmur rippled through the room. "Mr. White is here."

My breath caught. Lucian White, tall, immaculate in a tuxedo, a woman with a subtle baby bump on his arm. Aryan. A sudden, fierce wave of anger surged, tightening my grip on the glass until it threatened to shatter.

"Lyra," Michael murmured, his voice a thin lifeline. I turned away, the sudden rush of memories, courtroom whispers, the cold finality of the divorce papers, the hollow ache of abandonment, crashing over me like a tide. My heart hammered against my ribs, a mixture of betrayal, grief, and a strange, lingering love that refused to die.

I moved toward the balcony, the night air a promise of escape. The cold wind brushed against my cheeks, cooling the heat of my fury. I pressed my palms to the railing, the metal biting into my skin, trying to ground the storm inside me.

Six years of healing, six good years of pretending I'd moved on, and one glance had ripped it all open. I wasn't prepared for our paths to cross so soon.

I stared into the night, the midnight‑blue gown shimmering faintly in the moonlight, feeling the layers of my emotions settle like sediment: anger, grief, lingering affection, and an unshakable resolve.

The door opened again. Michael stepped out, his expression a mix of concern and resolve. "Lyra, we need to get back inside. The event's about to start."

I stared into the night, the weight of the city, the empire, and the ghost of a love I thought I'd buried pressing down on me.

~ LYRA ~

"I'll be right there," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Michael stepped closer, searching my eyes. "Are you okay? Lyra, we can go home. We can leave right now."

I shook my head, my jaw tightening. "No. I'm fine. Just... give me a moment. I'll meet you inside."

He hesitated, his brotherly instinct clearly warring with my command, but finally, he nodded. "Alright. I'll be by the main table."

The second he disappeared through the heavy oak doors, I slumped against the cold stone railing, taking a jagged, deep breath. The night air was crisp, but it couldn't chill the heat rising in my chest.

He couldn't see me like this.

No.

I refused to give Lucian the satisfaction of knowing he still occupied a single inch of my heart. I wouldn't let him see the cracks. I stood tall, smoothing the silk of my dress over my hips and checking my reflection in the dark glass of the window. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, wiped the phantom sting from my eyes, and donned my armor: a cold, perfect smile.

I pushed the doors open.

The sudden roar of conversation and the swell of the orchestra hit me, but I didn't flinch. As I walked toward Michael, the room seemed to pivot on its axis. The lighting caught the shimmer of my gown, and the whispers began low, frantic, and curious.

I felt it before I saw it. A heavy, familiar weight on the side of my face. I glanced toward the stage.

There he was. LUCIAN.

His gaze locked onto mine, intense and unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, a gesture so familiar it made my heart betray me with a sudden, sickening flutter. For one heartbeat, I was that girl in the hospital again.

Then, I remembered the empty cradle. I remembered the silence of a house that was no longer mine.

I tore my eyes away, my expression turning to stone. I didn't just ignore him; I erased him and made sure to put a smile on my face.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome. The annual business gala is once again upon us, and what better way to spend the evening than to get acquainted with other businessmen and women.

I'd like to thank each and every one of you for coming, and I hope you have a wonderful evening. Now, without further ado, let's get this party started."

The host's voice faded into the background as the orchestra shifted into a slow, haunting melody. It was time for the first dance.

I turned to Michael, offering a small, forced smile. "May I have this dance?"

"Always," he replied softly. We moved to the center of the room, blending into the sea of swaying couples. "You look breathtaking tonight, Lyra. Everyone is looking at you."

I knew what he was doing, trying to anchor me, trying to pull my mind away from the man watching us from the stage.

"You're not too bad yourself, baby brother," I teased, my voice trembling only slightly.

Michael's brow furrowed in that familiar, annoyed way.

"Stop calling me that. I'm thirty, not ten."

I let out a tiny, genuine breath of a laugh. "Okay, okay. But seriously... Thank you, Mike. I needed that."

"Anytime," he whispered.

But the moment of peace was short-lived. A shadow fell over us, cold and imposing. Before I could even look up, a voice vibrated through the air, a voice that had once been my lullaby and was now my haunting. Six years, and it still struck a chord deep in my marrow.

"May I cut in?"

My heart didn't just flutter; it hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. But beneath the shock, a dark, familiar rage began to boil.

"Lyra?" Michael's voice was a warning, his grip on my hand tightening.

"It's okay," I said, my eyes fixed on the floor. "You can go, Mike."

Michael hesitated, glaring at the intruder, but eventually stepped back and disappeared into the crowd.

Suddenly, a warm, heavy hand slid around my waist, pulling me flush against a chest I used to know by heart. His other hand took mine, his fingers calloused and firm. We began to move, our bodies forced into a cruel mimicry of intimacy.

I finally lifted my gaze. His eyes were right there dark, piercing, and entirely too calm.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I hissed, the words dripping with acid.

"Dancing," Lucian replied, his voice a low rumble.

"Let me go. Now."

"Lyra. Just shut up and dance."

My jaw clenched so hard it ached. "Why are you even here? This isn't your world, Lucian."

He chuckled, a dark, mocking sound. "It's a business gala. Anyone with the right invitation and the right price can attend."

"I'm sure your little girlfriend wouldn't appreciate you holding another woman this close, would she?"

"Wife," he corrected, his eyes narrowing. "She is my wife. We are married."

I felt the ghost of a sting in my chest, but I didn't let a single crack show on my face. I gave him a smile that was sharp enough to draw blood.

"How unfortunate for the both of you. Congratulations on the nuptials. May your life together be every bit as miserable as you deserve."

The smugness vanished from his face, replaced by a flash of raw anger.

"Let go of me, Lucian," I commanded.

"You're still so fucking beautiful," he whispered, as if he hadn't heard me. His hand on my waist tightened, pulling me closer until I could smell the expensive bourbon on his breath.

I scoffed, a sound of pure disgust. "What do you want?"

"To see you. To hear your voice. To see if you've actually managed to survive without me."

"You lost the right to care about my survival a long time ago, Mr. White."

"You've changed," he spat, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "If anything, I should be the angry one. You cheated on me with half the city. You whored yourself out,"

The world tilted. I balled my hand into a fist, clutching the lapel of his expensive suit jacket so hard my knuckles turned white. I leaned in, my voice a lethal whisper that only he could hear.

"Let go of me right now, or I swear to God, I will cause a scene that will ruin whatever pathetic reputation you have left."

"Lyra, calm down,"

"I will scream," I promised, my eyes burning into his. "I will let every person in this room know exactly what kind of man you are, a murder. Let. Me. Go. Now."

He saw it then, the fact that I wasn't bluffing. He saw the woman who had nothing left to lose. Slowly, he released his hold.

I stepped back, the space between us feeling like a canyon. I smoothed my dress, my hands shaking with a cocktail of adrenaline and hate.

"Don't you ever dare come near me again," I said, my voice cold enough to freeze the air between us. "Stay the fuck away from me, Lucian. I'm done playing."

I turned and walked away, my heels clicking a sharp countdown against the marble floor.

Then I saw her, Aryan, her bump evident, betrayal in human form, walking towards me. Her gaze was dark, but I didn't stop until I burst through the exit, leaving the music, the whispers, and the ghost of his touch behind.

~ LYRA ~

The car ride back to my apartment was a quiet one. I stared out the window, my hand balled into a tight fist on my thigh; I was simmering with rage that I had even encountered them.

Michael had decided to drive me home, insisting that I wasn't in the right headspace to be behind the wheel. I had initially rejected the offer, but he refused to take no for an answer. As soon as we arrived, I stepped out of the car and hurried inside.

I made my way toward the elevator and pressed the call button. As soon as the doors slid open, I stepped in and ascended to my floor. When the elevator chimed, I walked toward my door, unlocked it, and finally kicked off my heels.

I dropped onto the couch, letting the silence of the room settle over me. A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. I groaned softly as Michael stepped into the living room.

"I wanted to make sure you're okay?" he asked, his eyes clouded with worry.

"I'm fine, Mick."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I sighed heavily. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Lyra, you and Lucian have history, and what happened between you two was a disaster. It's completely normal to feel the way you do."

"Michael, can we just not? He is a part of my past I never want to revisit. Seeing him there tonight... it just dragged up old memories. But more than anything, it brought back a wave of anger I haven't felt in years."

"I know," he said softly. "That's why I'm here."

"I'm really fine, Michael. Don't worry."

"Okay. I'm going to head home. Do you want me to fix you something to eat before I go?"

"No, it's okay. Go home and get some rest. Tell Mom and Uncle Damien I sent my regards."

"Alright. Goodnight, Lyra. Sleep tight."

"Night."

Michael offered a small smile and walked away. I heard the door click shut, followed by the distant sound of his engine starting. I let out a long, shaky sigh.

Seeing him tonight was a shock. I hadn't seen him in six years, and now, suddenly, there he was. I should have expected it, though. He was a businessman, after all, and an event like that was the perfect opportunity for him to hunt for new partners and investors.

I stood up and retreated to the bathroom. After freshening up, I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. It had been an exhausting day, and tomorrow promised to be just as draining.

The only thing that kept me calm enough to sleep was the fact that Luciano wasn't here, that I didn't have to face him anymore tonight. I never thought in a million years that I would feel so much hatred for someone who was once my entire world. For the man who was once the love of my life.

...................

My office was a total disaster; I hadn't had the energy to deal with it yesterday. I needed to sort these files and get them dispatched to the different branches immediately. I was up and at my desk bright and early.

I set my things down and spent thirty minutes clearing the mess until the room finally looked professional again.

"Lyra!"

I looked up to see my assistant standing in the doorway.

"Hi, Madi. How are you doing today?" I asked. How she managed to stay that energetic every morning was a mystery I had yet to solve.

"Good! Just checking in. The first board meeting starts in an hour."

I nodded. "Thanks, Madi. I'll be there."

"Alright, ma'am."

As she walked away, I went back to sorting the papers.

"Lyra." Someone called, my eyes snapped up, landing on a familiar face.

"Uncle Damien. What brings you here?"

He walked toward me and placed a stack of papers on my desk.

"Just some files for you to look through. They were sent over by the UK branch, we need your signature on these before they go out to the next firm."

"Of course, Uncle Damien. I'll take care of it."