Lyra’s POV
“Mom! Mom!”
Lillian’s tiny voice pulled me out of the dark haze of sleep. Her little fingers tapped insistently at my arm, and I blinked against the light streaming through the curtains.
I sat up groggily, my head pounding from the wine, and when my eyes finally adjusted, I froze. My body was clothed in a vest so tight it clung to my skin, paired with shorts that barely covered my thighs. The fabric dug into me, outlining curves I had spent years burying under oversized clothes.
Confusion clawed at me. I never wore things like this. Never. My wardrobe had always been baggy dresses, loose tops—anything that shielded me from stares.
Panic surged. Who had dressed me like this?
And then, like a cruel rush of waves, memory slammed into me—last night. The alcohol, the heat of Lu
