CHAPTER 002
1107 Words
MARCUS’S POINT OF VIEW
The television glowed in the dimly lit office, the news anchor’s voice crisp and emotionless.
"Breaking news—Lyra Whitmore, former fiancée of billionaire CEO Kieran Voss, has been arrested on charges of corporate espionage. Voss Enterprises leaked confidential documents, leading to a catastrophic deal failure, according to sources. Lyra has denied all allegations, but the evidence against her is overwhelming."
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.
There she was, plastered across the screen—disheveled, handcuffed, eyes blown wide with disbelief. As they escorted her into the police vehicle, a reporter shoved a microphone in her face.
"I didn't do this! Please, you have to believe me!"
Pathetic.
I picked up my glass of whiskey, letting the ice clink against the sides as I swirled it slowly.
She was out.
Kieran had torn her apart, discarded her like she was nothing. And he never even suspected the real hand behind all of it.
My fingers tapped against the edge of my desk, the rhythmic sound blending with the faint hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyscrapers stretched out beneath me, twinkling against the night like tiny, fragile stars.
Just like Lyra. Small. Insignificant. It can be easily crushed.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
The heavy mahogany door swung open, and my assistant, Oliver, stepped in. His movements were precise, calculated—just the way I liked them.
"It's complete," he stated with a steady voice. "The media is eating it up. No one is questioning the validity of the evidence. Public opinion is already shifting against her."
I took a slow sip of my drink before setting it down.
"And Kieran?"
Oliver hesitated. "Furious. He called an emergency meeting, but so far, he’s been silent publicly."
Of course, he had.
Kieran was many things—ruthless, brilliant, dangerously unpredictable—but when it came to betrayal, he was unforgiving. Lyra had been his weakness. And now that weakness was bleeding out in the middle of the media’s feeding frenzy.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepling beneath my chin. Ensure there are no untied threads. If anyone begins to inquire, please address their concerns promptly to prevent any escalation."
Oliver nodded but didn’t leave.
"What else?" I prompted.
He shifted slightly, uncomfortable. "There was… an intriguing development. Kieran had a moment of hesitation.".
My jaw clenched, though I kept my expression neutral.
"Hesitation?"
"He didn’t say it directly, but it was in his voice. Doubt. For a brief moment, it seemed as though he was inclined to trust her.
The glass in my hand nearly cracked.
No.
Kieran wasn’t allowed to doubt. He wasn’t allowed to question.
He was supposed to hate her. Destroy her. Forget her.
"Make sure he doesn’t have time to second-guess," I said, my voice dangerously low. "Flood the media with more coverage. Have people he trusts feed him the narrative. By the time the week is over, Lyra Whitmore will be nothing but a painful mistake in his past."
Oliver gave a small nod and turned to leave.
"One more thing," I called after him.
He paused at the doorway.
"If anyone tries to defend her, silence them."
There was a brief pause. "Understood."
The door shut behind him.
Silence wrapped around me, thick and suffocating.
I leaned forward, pressing my elbows onto my desk, my hands clasped together as I stared at the image of Lyra frozen on the TV screen.
Tears streaked her face.
She looked so… small.
For a fleeting moment, something twisted inside my chest, sharp and unwelcome.
I forced it down.
She deserved this.
She should have never stepped into Kieran’s life.
She should have never made him care.
Because she was never meant to stay.
It had started months ago.
The moment I saw the way Kieran looked at her, I knew she had to go.
He had never looked at anyone like that before—not with that raw, unguarded devotion. Lyra had become more than just a woman in his life. She had become a weakness, a distraction.
And I couldn’t let that happen.
So I did what I always did. I planned.
It was subtle at first. Small seeds of doubt were being planted. She whispers concerns in Kieran's ear when he least expects them.
"Are you sure about her?"
"She has a past, Kieran. Have you really looked into it?"
"Love makes people blind. I just want to make sure you don’t regret this."
Little by little, I laid the foundation. Then, I built the house of lies on top of it.
The bank records were forged.
The emails were manipulated.
The fabricated transaction logs show money funneled into accounts connected to Lyra.
Every detail was perfect. Timelines, signatures, timestamps—it all aligned. By the time Kieran found the evidence, there was no room for doubt. There was no place for love.
Only betrayal.
And now, here we were.
Lyra was not present.
Kieran was mine to control again.
The empire remained intact.
Everything had fallen into place.
So why did it feel like something was unraveling beneath my fingertips?
The phone rang, slicing through the silence.
I picked it up, already knowing who it was.
"Kieran."
His voice was sharp and clipped. "Marcus, handle the media. I don’t want anyone speaking on her behalf. If anyone defends her, shut them up."
I leaned back, my smirk hidden in the darkness. "Consider it done."
A pause.
"Kieran?"
I took a slow inhale on the other end. Then—
"She swore she didn’t do it."
A cold wave of irritation washed over me.
"She’s lying," I said smoothly. "You know that, don’t you?"
Another silence. This silence is longer than the previous one.
Then—
"I need to go."
The line went dead.
I set the phone down carefully, my fingers tightening into a fist against my desk.
Doubt.
It's that dangerous, insidious thing.
Kieran wasn’t supposed to doubt. He was supposed to hate her. He intended to eliminate her from his existence.
And yet, something held him back.
I reached into my desk drawer, fingers brushing against the worn edges of an old photograph.
I pulled it out, holding it up against the dim glow of the city lights.
Lyra.
She was a younger version of herself, smiling—soft, unguarded, innocent.
She didn’t belong in his world.
She never had.
My fingers tightened around the picture, creasing the edges.
"You were never meant to be in his life," I whispered"
But then why, after all these years, did it feel like she still was?
- Writer
