Chapter 6
1471 Words
Lyra’s POV
The silence after my words was deafening.
The river flowed beneath the bridge like nothing had just shattered reality. The wind brushed past us, indifferent. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared—life continuing while I stood there wondering if I had finally, irrevocably lost my mind.
Max stared at me.
His face gave nothing away, but his eyes—dark and piercing—searched mine like he was trying to decide whether I was dangerous, brilliant, or completely unhinged.
I forced a swallow, trying to find my voice through the sudden knot in my chest.
“I…” My voice came out in a rough whisper. “I didn’t mean it like…you know…the whole soulmates thing.”
I rushed on, words tumbling over each other.
“I mean strategically. I’m being forced to marry someone in two weeks, you have three months before your family pulls the guillotine. This is a mutually beneficial…”
“Arrangement?” he cut in calmly.
I nodded too fast. “Exactly. That.”
He leaned back against the railing, folding his arms slowly, studying me like a chessboard he hadn’t decided whether to flip or play.
“You propose marriage,” he said evenly, “to a man you met approximately ten minutes ago. On a bridge. After tackling him to the ground.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.” I replied quietly, mentally face palming myself.
His mouth quirked just for a second, before he pulled his expression back together.
“But you’re serious,” he said.
“Yes.” The word came out without hesitation. “I don’t make jokes about things that could ruin my life.”
Something shifted in his gaze.
“Neither do I.”
We stood there, the night stretching between us. I hugged my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how cold it was—or maybe how exposed I felt.
“I don’t expect an answer right now,” I added quickly. “This was impulsive. I know that. You can say no.”
He exhaled slowly, pushing away from the railing. “Let’s get one thing clear.”
I straightened instinctively.
“My family doesn’t play at marriage. They weaponize it.”
Everything inside me tensed, reacting to a script I’d lived a thousand times. “Mine too.”
“Good,” he replied. “Then we understand each other.”
I frowned. “That wasn’t a yes.”
“It wasn’t a no either.”
My chest felt suddenly light, that annoying little spark of optimism making it hard to stay realistic.
He pulled out his phone, checking the time. “It’s late. And this conversation deserves more than adrenaline and poor lighting.”
“Are you saying…”
“I’m saying,” he interrupted, meeting my eyes again, “that if we’re going to discuss something this reckless, we do it properly.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then reality crept back in—my house, my father, the ticking clock over my head.
“I should go,” I said quietly.
He studied me again, this time with something softer threaded through the intensity. Something unspoken passed between us then—an understanding forged by survival.
We exchanged numbers.
When his name popped up on my phone—Max St. Clair—it felt heavier than it should have.
“I’ll text you,” he said.
“I’ll be awake,” I answered. “I usually am.”
He hesitated, then nodded once before turning away.
I watched him disappear into the night, his tall frame swallowed by shadows, and only then did I realize how hard my hands were shaking.
What had I just done?
I started home with my heart pounding and my thoughts racing, the echo of his presence clinging to my skin.
Above me, the stars flickered faintly.
And somewhere deep in my chest, beneath the fear and the uncertainty, a single satisfying thought settled into place:
For the first time, I had acted without seeing what came next.
No inevitable ending curling toward me like smoke.
Just my choice.
By the time I reached home, my nerves were still humming, like I’d brushed too close to live wire.
The front door wasn’t locked.
That alone was unusual.
Light spilled from the living room, brighter than usual, accompanied by high-pitched laughter that stopped me mid-step.
Angela’s voice floated through first—excited, breathless, almost giddy.
“Oh my goodness, can you imagine?” she squealed.
Odette giggled, sharp and delighted. “I told you they’d be impressed.”
My father’s voice followed. A sound I barely recognized.
“Well,” he said, laughter thick in his tone, “this is exactly the kind of alliance we’ve been waiting for.”
I stood frozen in the doorway, my bag slipping slightly off my shoulder.
They hadn’t noticed me.
Or worse—they had, and simply didn’t care.
I stepped further inside.
Angela and Odette were perched on the couch like they were celebrating a holiday. Angela clutched her phone, showing something animatedly to my father, who stood near the fireplace with a glass in hand. His smile was wide—wider than I’d ever seen it.
It looked wrong on him. Like a borrowed expression..
Odette caught sight of me first.
Her eyes flicked over me dismissively, then slid away.
Angela didn’t even glance in my direction.
Whatever this was—it wasn’t for me.
I adjusted my grip on my bag and quietly started toward the stairs.
“And the family?” Angela gushed behind me. “Old money, powerful, impeccable reputation.”
Odette laughed. “You should’ve seen their estate, Dad. It’s breathtaking.”
Angela clasped her hands together. “This is such a blessing for Odette. Such a future.”
The word hit me like grit between my teeth.
Future.
They always said it like it was a gift. Like a promise wrapped in silk.
To me, it had always sounded like a sentence already written—one I was expected to walk into with my eyes open and my mouth shut.
“Everything will be finalized soon,” my father continued. “Once the details are settled.”
“What details?” Angela asked eagerly.
Odette squealed again, “dates Mom! Announcements, introductions, wedding plans…”
I forced myself to move.
I didn’t want to hear the rest.
I climbed the stairs silently, each step heavier than the last. My chest tightened—not with jealousy, not even anger—but with a familiar, bitter clarity.
Of course they were celebrating, this marriage was worthy of joy.
I reached my room and closed the door behind me with more care than the moment deserved.
The quiet inside pressed in immediately.
I dropped my bag and crossed the room on autopilot before collapsing onto my bed. The ceiling stared back at me, blank and unmoved by everything unraveling beneath it.
Odette was getting married too. To a powerful family.
I wondered vaguely if that was how it was supposed to look when a daughter was wanted.
My phone vibrated.
That one little buzz sent my heart into my throat. I stared at the screen, terrified to actually look at the notification.
> Max St. Clair
“Meet me at the registry in two days. 10 a.m.”
I bolted upright.
“Two days?!” I whispered aloud.
My pulse spiked violently.
That was—
“No. No, no, no.” I scrambled for my calendar, fingers flying.
My appointment
The one Lisa had waited months to secure.
The one thing that might actually explain everything.
I stared at the screen again as another text came through.
“We can talk the details then.”
My hands shook as I typed.
“Two days is fast.”
“I don’t move slowly when I decide something matters.” The reply came almost instantly.
I leaned against the headboard, a quiet, helpless sigh escaping my lips.
There was no point arguing.
I clutched my phone to my chest, my mind racing in a hundred directions at once.
Two days until the Oracle. Two days until the registry. Two days until everything tipped irreversibly forward.
The house below me erupted in laughter again—Angela’s voice, Odette’s delight, my father’s approval, all bleeding together into something loud and distant and unreal.
I slid down under the covers, pulling the sheets over my head like they could shield me from choice itself.
What am I supposed to do?
For the first time since my visions began, the future wasn’t clear anymore.
And buried in the dark, staring at nothing, I realized that terrified me far more than seeing my own death ever had.
- Writer
