Lyra’s POV
Adrian left just after midnight. No whisper, no dramatic goodbye. He slipped out through the servant’s wing, the same way he’d sneaked in: ghost-quiet, desperate, and still bleeding. In the dim hall, I watched him go, his silhouette slipping between shadows like he was rewiring my life as he disappeared.
I stayed on the floor where he’d been, blankets twisted beneath me. My hand still tingled from the weight of his last grip. Stay with me, he’d whispered, but he didn’t. He vanished into the night—and with him, that ache that half of me still couldn’t let die.
By four a.m., the hush of the compound was a confession. Even the walls seemed to cough under the weight of silence.
Then Leo's private jet landed. No announcement. No charm offensive. Security doors clicked, footsteps
