Chapter 7
1403 Words
Lyra’s POV
I woke up choking on air.
My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape first, and for one disorienting second, I didn’t know where I was—only that I was late for something important.
I shot upright in bed, sheets tangled around my legs, my pulse roaring in my ears.
My gaze snapped to the small digital alarm clock on my bedside table—the kind with glowing red numbers and a cracked corner from when I’d dropped it months ago.
8:12 a.m.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”
I lunged for my phone, fingers trembling as I unlocked it and opened my calendar, even though I already knew exactly what I would see.
Oracle Appointment — 10:30 a.m.
Then another time burned into my mind, sharp and unrelenting.
Registry — 10:00 a.m.
Civic Records Office, Northbridge.
The Oracle resided in Eldergate, on the southern edge of the city—an hour’s drive on a good day, longer if traffic decided to punish me.
Even without delays, it would take nearly twenty minutes to cross from Northbridge to Eldergate. More if anything went wrong. And things always went wrong when I needed them not to.
I stared at the screen like sheer force of will might bend time to my favor.
If I missed the Oracle, I might never know why I was dying. Why the visions kept coming or how to stop them—if they even could be stopped.
If I missed Max…
My stomach twisted violently.
Then there would be no escape. Just Maverick Cole.
The name alone made my skin crawl.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood so fast the room tilted. Black spots swam at the edge of my vision, and I had to brace my palm against the wall until the dizziness passed.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself. “Okay. Think.”
Two appointments. Both demanding my presence. Both unforgiving.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Lisa.
She picked up on the second ring. “Lyra?”
“I’m awake,” I blurted. “I’m running late, but I’m awake.”
“Are you alright?”
“No,” I said honestly. “But I will be.”
I crossed the room in quick strides, yanking open my closet.
Yesterday’s gown hung at the front, still in its garment bag. It was a structured A-line made of matte crepe, holding its shape with a quiet authority. The short cap sleeves squared my shoulders, falling into unbroken, floor-length pleats that made me look taller, sharper, and far more composed than I felt.
I’d bought it on impulse, the stark cream fabric a blank slate for whatever the day decided to throw at me.
“My appointment’s still confirmed for ten-thirty, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” Lisa said slowly. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, pulling the gown free and laying it carefully across my bed, “I also have to be somewhere else at ten.”
Silence stretched across the line. I could almost hear her thoughts colliding.
“Lyra,” she called carefully. “You can’t be in two places at once.”
“I know,” I whispered. “But I also can’t choose which part of my life to abandon.”
Her sigh crackled softly through the phone. “That appointment wasn’t easy to secure.”
“I know,” I repeated.
After hanging up, I moved like someone possessed—showering in record time, barely tasting breakfast, smoothing on light makeup with shaking hands. I kept it minimal: concealer, mascara, a swipe of soft rose lipstick. Enough to look alive.
I twisted my hair into a neat bun, fingers clumsy with nerves.
By the time I stepped outside, my body felt wound too tight, like one wrong movement would snap me in half.
The ride to the registry blurred past in red lights and shallow breaths. I checked my watch compulsively.
9:57 a.m.
“Just drop me here,” I told the driver before he’d even finished parking.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk, heart pounding, and lifted my gaze.
Max was already there.
He stood near the entrance, tall and still, dressed in a black suit that looked like it had been tailored with violence in mind. Crisp lines, dark fabric, no tie—just an open collar that somehow made him look dangerous.
The night had softened him. In daylight, there was no hiding how striking he was.
His presence hit me like a physical force, and for one alarming second, my panic faltered—replaced by something warmer, heavier, coiling low in my stomach.
His eyes found mine instantly.
Something unreadable flickered across his face before it smoothed away.
‘You’re late’, that look said.
I forced my feet to move.
“Good morning,” I said, trying—and failing—to sound composed.
His gaze swept over me, sharp and assessing. “You look pale.”
“I feel great,” I lied automatically.
He didn’t smile, but something about his expression shifted, like he found the lie mildly entertaining.
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the building.
We fell into step beside each other as we walked toward the entrance. The silence was charged, humming beneath the surface.
Inside, the registry was everything I feared it would be—cold, sterile, painfully indifferent.
A woman behind the desk glanced at us, then at the file in front of her.
“Maximilian St. Clair and Lyra Blackwood?” she confirmed.
“Yes,” Max said smoothly, while I just nodded softly.
We were led into a small private room that smelled faintly of disinfectant and paper. A table stood in the center, documents neatly arranged.
My stomach flipped.
This was real. This wasn’t strategy anymore—it was ink and signatures and legal permanence.
“You keep checking your watch,” Max murmured.
I froze, then laughed too quickly. “Habit.”
“Hm.” His eyes lingered, clearly unconvinced.
The official cleared her throat. “Before we proceed, are there any terms or conditions to be added to the marriage contract?”
“Yes,” I said immediately.
Both of them turned to look at me.
“I want complete confidentiality,” I continued, forcing my voice steady. “No announcements to extended parties. No public record access beyond what’s legally required.”
The words came faster as the truth pressed up behind them. I wasn’t ready—for my family, for questions, for scrutiny. I was marrying a stranger, yes, but this marriage was also my only escape from Maverick Cole. If I needed room to breathe, room to think, I couldn’t afford exposure.
Max studied me for a long moment, then he nodded once. “Accepted.”
I felt my chest loosen just a little.
Papers were adjusted. Clauses added. Words that would shape the next six months of my life were printed and slid in front of us.
“Sign here,” the official instructed.
My hand hovered over the pen,then the thought of Maverick Cole’s smile flashed through my mind. I signed immediately.
Max followed without hesitation, his signature bold and decisive.
The stamp came down with a dull, final thud.
“Congratulations,” the official said, handing us each a slim folder. “Your marriage certificates.”
I stared at the stamp; MARRIED; the word echoed strangely in my head, distant and unreal.
I pushed back my chair abruptly.
“I’m sorry,” I said, already standing. “I have an emergency.”
Max blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “Lyra…”
I didn’t wait for him to finish, I turned and ran out of the room. Down the hall. Past startled glances and murmured congratulations I didn’t hear.
Outside, I gulped in air and flagged down the first cab I saw.
“Eldergate,” I said breathlessly. “The Oracle’s district”
The car pulled into traffic, accelerating hard enough to jolt me back against the seat.
I glanced at my watch, my pulse stuttering when the numbers came into focus.
10:21 a.m.
That was far too close.
I pressed my forehead against the window and closed my eyes.
Please.
I thought to fate, to whatever fragile thread still held my life together.
Let me make it.
- Writer
