LYRA'S POV
The walk back to the mansion was a blur of cold air and hot shame. Raphael’s jacket was heavy on my shoulders, but it didn’t warm the ice in my chest. He tried to talk to me in the car, his voice low.
“They’re nothing. Vicious little girls playing at being queens. I’ll deal with them. You have my word.”
I stared out the window at the passing trees. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” He sounded confused. Angry. “They can’t treat you like that.”
“Because they’re right,” I said, the words flat and dead. “Everything they said. It’s all true.”
“Lyra—”
“I am a stripper. I do live in your house for free. My mother did have an affair with a married man. What part of that is a lie, Raphael? Tell me.”
He was silent for the rest of the drive. The silence was worse. It confirmed everything. He
