Romane von Lady Chids

♠ Gabriel's pov ♠ Something was wrong. I realized it the moment Lyra walked away from the dining room. It wasn't the first time she'd been angry with me. It wasn't even the first time she'd refused to continue a conversation. But this felt different. Usually, there was emotion behind it. Frustration. Disappointment. Hope. Always hope. No matter how angry she became, there was always a part of her that still expected something from me. An explanation. An apology. A reaction. Tonight, there had been nothing. Just exhaustion.And somehow that unsettled me more than her anger ever had. I remained seated long after she'd disappeared upstairs. The dining room had emptied.The staff had cleared the table. Even the sound of the twins laughing somewhere in the west wing had faded. Yet I still sat there. Thinking. The problem was that I didn't understand why I was thinking about it. For years, distance between us had been normal. Expected. Necessary. Our marriage wasn't built on affectio

♥ Lyra's pov♥ I woke up with a headache. Not the sharp, dizzying pain from yesterday. This one was dull. Persistent. A reminder. The kind that lingered just beneath the surface no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. For a few seconds, I stared at the ceiling. The events of yesterday crashed into me all at once. Victoria. The staircase. Gabriel. The accusation. The look in his eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut. Big mistake. The movement sent another pulse of pain through my skull. "Wonderful," I muttered. A knock sounded at the door. Before I could answer, Mrs. Dalton entered carrying a tray. Tea. Toast. Medicine. The holy trinity of recovery. "You look terrible," she announced. "Good morning to you too." The older woman snorted. I almost smiled. Almost. Mrs. Dalton set the tray down. "Your painkillers." I obediently reached for them. The fact that I obeyed immediately made her narrow her eyes suspiciously. "You must really be hurting." "I got sti

♥ Gabriel's pov♥Victoria was asleep. At least, that was what the nurse claimed. I stood near the hospital window, staring at the city lights below. My reflection stared back. Tired. Irritated.Restless. The feeling had followed me ever since I left the house. I told myself it was because of the incident.Because of the accusation. Because another problem landed on my desk when I already had too many. But that wasn't entirely true. Something else was bothering me. Something I couldn't quite name.The hospital room door opened quietly. A nurse stepped inside. "Mr. Kane."I turned. "Yes?""Mrs. Sterling's test results came back."I nodded. "And?""Everything looks normal. The wrist isn't fractured. Just a mild sprain."I wasn't surprised. Victoria had never looked seriously injured. The nurse smiled politely before leaving. The room became quiet again. A mild sprain. I glanced toward the sleeping woman in the bed.Then, unexpectedly, another image appeared in my mind.Lyra. Standing at

♥Lyra's pov♥ The first thing I became aware of was the blood. Warm and Sticky. Running down the side of my face. For a moment, I just sat there on the staircase floor, staring at the crimson staining my fingers. The front door slammed somewhere in the distance. Gabriel was gone. The realization landed harder than the fall itself. Gone. He hadn't looked back. Not once. Not when I called his name. Not when I stumbled. Not when my head struck the railing. Gone. "Mrs. Kane!" Mrs. Dalton's voice broke through the ringing in my ears. The older woman rushed forward, her sensible shoes clicking sharply against the floor. She dropped beside me immediately. "Oh, heavens." Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood. "I'm fine," I said automatically. The lie sounded ridiculous even to me. Mrs. Dalton gave me a look that clearly said she wasn't fooled. "You are bleeding all over Mr. Kane's staircase." A humorless laugh escaped me. "Then he'll probably be upset about the carpet." The olde

♣ Victoria Sterling's pov♣ They always remembered me as elegant. Soft and controlled. The kind of woman who smiled instead of fought. It was useful. People rarely fear what they believe they understand. I adjusted the sleeve of my coat as I walked through Kane Manor’s upper hallway, listening to the quiet hum of servants pretending not to notice me. Two days. That’s what Gabriel had said. Only two days. I almost smiled at that. He still believed in temporary solutions. Still believed things could be neatly contained. Like me. A door opened ahead. And Lyra Olson stepped out. We stopped at the same time. For a second, neither of us spoke. She was… different in person. Less polished than the women Gabriel usually entertained in elite circles. But not weak. That was the interesting part. Her eyes held something stubborn. Something that didn’t belong in a world like this. “Victoria,” she said cautiously. I smiled politely. “Lyra.” Awkward silence stretched between us.

Chapter 44Lyra’s POVSienna had insisted I leave the house.“Fresh air,” she’d said firmly, tugging me toward the car like I was a patient recovering from something I refused to name.Honestly, I didn’t argue.Kane Manor had started feeling like it was shrinking around me lately.Like the walls were quietly learning my name.So I went.We spent most of the afternoon in a quiet café downtown, far enough from the mansion that my shoulders finally relaxed for the first time in days.Sienna talked about something funny Lucas had done at a charity event.I tried to laugh.And I did.A little.But even then, my mind kept drifting.To Victoria.To Gabriel.To that smile she gave him.Like she still knew him in a way I didn’t.By the time I returned home, the sun was already dipping low behind the estate gardens.The house was unusually quiet.Too quiet.Mrs. Dalton greeted me politely. “Mr. Kane is in the study with a guest.”My chest tightened slightly.A guest.I nodded slowly. “Who?”She

The next morning, I woke up to chaos.The penthouse was buzzing with activity. Staff members rushing around. Phones ringing. Voices raised.I sat up, disoriented. "What's happening?"Diego was standing by the window, his phone pressed to his ear. His expression was dark. Cold."We have a problem," he said, hanging up."What kind of problem?"He turned to me. His eyes were hard. "Your family is here. All of them. Demanding to see you."My blood ran cold. "Beatrice too?""Especially Beatrice." He walked toward me. "They're not happy. They're saying the marriage was forced. They want to take you home."I shook my head. "I'm not going anywhere.""I know." He took my hand. "But they're not going to give up easily. Beatrice has been spreading lies. Telling people I forced you to marry me. That I kidnapped you after you ran.""That's ridiculous. They were at the wedding. They saw me walk down the aisle.""She doesn't care about the truth. She just wants to destroy our marriage."I stood up.

•Olivia•I woke up in his arms.His body was wrapped around mine like he was afraid I'd disappear. His breath was warm against my neck. His hand was splayed across my stomach, possessive even in sleep.I didn't move. I didn't want to.I just lay there, feeling his heartbeat against my back. Feeling the weight of his arm around me. Feeling... safe.Last night flooded back.The way he'd worshipped every inch of my body. The way he'd whispered my name like a prayer. The way he'd stopped, even when he was desperate, to make sure I was okay.I'd never felt so cherished."Good morning, gattina."His voice was thick with sleep. Rough. Sexy. I felt his lips press against the back of my neck.I turned my head. He was smiling at me. His eyes were soft. Warm. Full of something I'd never seen directed at me before.Love."Good morning," I whispered.He kissed my forehead. "How do you feel?"I thought about it. About last night. About everything."Happy," I said. "I feel happy."His smile widened.

I couldn't breathe. He was so close. So impossibly, devastatingly close. I could feel the heat radiating from his body like a furnace. I could smell his cologne. Something dark and expensive, mixed with the clean scent of soap from his shower. I could feel his breath on my skin, warm and uneven. "Diego," I whispered. "Hmm?" His voice was low. Rough. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. My mind was a blank slate, wiped clean by the sheer intensity of his presence. Every thought I'd ever had had evaporated, replaced by a single, burning awareness of him. His body above mine. His skin against my skin. His eyes—those dark, beautiful eyes fixed on me like I was the only person in the world. I just knew I didn't want him to move away. I reached up. My fingers trembled as they touched his chest. His skin was warm. Smooth. I could feel the muscles beneath, hard and defined. Diego's breath caught. "Olivia." His voice was strained. "You're killing me." I didn't know w

At the Villa ~Staff members rushed through the halls. Flowers were being arranged. Music was being tested. The small group of guests—Diego's trusted inner circle were being seated in the garden.And I was standing in front of a mirror, staring at my reflection.The dress was stunning. White silk. Simple elegance. Nothing like the heavy, suffocating gown my mother had chosen. Diego had chosen this one. He'd had it delivered this morning, along with a note:"Wear this, gattina. It matches your eyes."My eyes were brown. The dress was white and filled with wonderful designs. But somehow, I understood what he meant.He saw me. The real me. Not the version my family wanted me to be."What are you doing?"I spun around. My father was standing in the doorway, his face red with rage. His suit was rumpled. His tie was crooked. He looked like he'd been running."You," he spat. "You selfish, ungrateful—""Father—""Don't you dare speak to me!" He stormed into the room. "Do you have any idea wha

"I wasn't—""You were." He smiled. "But that's okay. I'm not offended."I stared at him. "You're not?""No." He tilted his head. "You don't know me. You only know the rumors. The whispers. The stories." He paused. "And I'd rather you run from a monster than marry a stranger."I didn't understand."What do you want?" I whispered. "Why are you being so... nice?""Maybe I'm not a monster," he said. "Maybe I'm just a man who wants to get to know his wife.""I'm not your wife.""Not yet." He leaned in again. "But you will be. You're running away, but you won't get far." He paused. "Your father has enemies. He's made one. A powerful one. The moment you leave me, they'll come for you."My blood ran cold. "You're threatening me.""No." He shook his head. "I'm protecting you. There are people out there who want to hurt your family. Hurt you. I'm the only one who can stop them."I didn't know what to say."Running away won't save you, gattina," he continued. "But staying with me will.""Why?" I

The wedding dress was suffocating. White. Layers of tulle. Tiny crystals that caught the light and made me look like a princess.I felt like a prisoner."Olivia, stand still." My mother's voice was sharp. "The veil isn't straight."I didn't move. I couldn't. Every muscle in my body was frozen. Every instinct was screaming at me to run.Run. Run. Run."Olivia." Beatrice stepped in front of me, inspecting me like I was a doll she was about to discard. Her eyes were cold. Calculating. "You look... acceptable, I suppose."I stared at her. "Acceptable?""Don't get excited." She smoothed a strand of my hair, her touch sharp and condescending. "You're not beautiful. You never have been. But the dress helps. It distracts from your... inadequacies."My blood boiled. "You're enjoying this.""I'm enjoying watching you finally be useful." Beatrice smiled, and it was sharp as glass. "For once in your miserable life, you're doing something for this family. You should be grateful.""Grateful." I lau

I stared at my phone..The words blurred. Then sharpened. Then blurred again.It's your father, Lucy. He's the one pulling the strings.My father. The man who'd abandoned me when I was fourteen. The man who'd disappeared without a trace. The man I'd spent years pretending didn't exist.He was alive. He was here. And he'd been working with Vincent this whole time.I felt the world tilt."Lucy?" Sloane's voice came from somewhere far away. "Lucy, what's wrong? You've gone pale."I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything except stare at the screen.Sloane took the phone from my hands. Read the message. Her face went white."Oh my God."I finally found my voice. "He's alive.""Lucy—""He's alive. He's been alive this whole time. And he's been working with Vincent."Sloane grabbed my shoulders. "Lucy. Look at me."I looked at her."We're going to figure this out. Together." Her voice was steady. "But first, you need to breathe."I tried. I really tried.But all I could think

Sloane didn't cry.That was the scariest part.She sat on my couch, her hands wrapped around a cold cup of tea, her face perfectly still. No tears. No shaking. Just emptiness."He's been lying to me the whole time," she said. "The whole time, Lucy."I sat beside her. "I know.""I thought he was different. I thought—" She stopped. "I thought he actually cared about me.""He's a good actor.""He's a monster." She looked at me. "Just like Vincent."I reached for her hand. "We're going to figure this out.""How?""I don't know yet. But we're going to figure it out."I called Mason that night. Not because I wanted to. Because I needed to.He answered on the first ring."Lucy? Is everything okay?""Sloane's boyfriend. He's connected to Vincent."Silence."Mason?""I'm on my way."He arrived in twenty minutes. He looked at Sloane. At me. At the cold tea on the table."Tell me everything," he said.Sloane told him. About Jason. About the lies. About the information he'd been feeding to Vincen

The new apartment was small.Bare walls. A couch that had seen better days. A kitchen with exactly one working burner.But it was mine.I'd found it three weeks after coming back to the city. A tiny studio on the fourth floor of a walk-up building. No elevator. No dishwasher. No laundry in the building.But the windows faced east, and the morning light flooded through them. And the landlord didn't ask questions when I paid in cash.It was the first place I'd ever had that was completely my own.No Sloane. No Mason. No Katherine. Just me.I spent the first week settling in. Hanging curtains that were too long. Assembling furniture that came with missing parts. Learning to cook on a stove that had a mind of its own.I loved every second of it.Sloane came over on Saturday.She walked through the door and stopped. "This is... cozy.""It's small. It's tiny and It's mine."She looked at me. Then she smiled. "You're happy here.""I am.""I can see it." She sat on the couch. "It looks good o

I'd moved away from all the drama. At least find myself and not pine over a man I wasn't sure was mine yet. I'd been avoiding Mason. Well, not avoiding exactly. I just hadn't called. Hadn't texted. Hadn't shown up at his doorstep like the old Lucy would have.The old Lucy had been desperate. The old Lucy had been waiting. The old Lucy had been pathetic.I wasn't that girl anymore.London had changed me. Katherine had changed me. The box of my mother's letters had changed me. I'd spent months learning who I was without Mason Chen hovering in the background of my life.Turns out, I was pretty interesting without him.I had friends now. Real friends. People who didn't know me as "Sloane's charity case" or "the pool house girl." People who knew me as Lucy. The one who made terrible jokes. The one who could quote entire chapters of Jane Austen. The one who was writing a novel she'd never let anyone read.I had plans. I had goals. I had a life.And then I saw the billboard.The same one I'd

The trial began on a Monday.I woke up before dawn. My stomach was in knots. My hands were shaking.Sloane was already in the kitchen. Coffee. Toast. She didn't say much. She just handed me a mug and sat beside me."You're going to be fine," she said."I know.""You're going to be great.""I know."She reached for my hand."I'm proud of you, Lucy. No matter what happens."I squeezed her hand."Thank you."Mason picked us up at eight.He was dressed in a dark suit. His jaw was tight. He looked like he hadn't slept."You ready?" he asked."No.""Good. Neither am I."He drove in silence.***The courthouse was cold when we arrived. I sat in the hallway, waiting. My name was called. I stood up.Sloane squeezed my hand. Mason touched my arm."Remember," he said. "You're not alone."I nodded and walked into the courtroom.Vincent was there.Sitting at the defendant's table. Dressed in a suit. His eyes found me immediately. He smiled.I felt sick. But I didn't look away.The prosecutor asked

Chapter 29The next few weeks were normal.As normal as they could be, anyway.Mason took me on dates. Real dates. Dinner at quiet restaurants. Walks through the park. Movie nights on his couch where we didn't even watch the movie.He was patient. He didn't push. He let me set the pace.I was grateful for that.But I was also scared.The nightmares started again.Not every night. Just sometimes. I'd wake up gasping, heart pounding, the image of the car still fresh in my mind.Sloane noticed the dark circles under my eyes."Are you sleeping?" she asked one morning."Not really.""Nightmares?""Yeah."She didn't push. She just handed me a cup of tea and sat beside me.Mason noticed too.We were at his house one evening. Sitting on the couch. His arm around me. I was trying to relax. Trying to feel safe.But I couldn't."Lucy." His voice was soft. "What's wrong?""Nothing.""You're shaking."I looked down at my hands. They were trembling."I'm fine," I said."You're not."He turned to fa

Am nächsten Morgen hat Sloane mich in die Enge getrieben. Sie tauchte in meiner Wohnung auf, noch bevor ich meine erste Tasse Kaffee ausgetrunken hatte. Keine Vorwarnung. Keine SMS. Nur ein scharfes Klopfen an meiner Tür und dieser entschlossene Gesichtsausdruck, den ich nur zu gut kannte. „Dir auch einen guten Morgen“, sagte ich und ließ sie herein. „Komm mir nicht mit ‚Guten Morgen‘.“ Sie ließ ihre Tasche auf mein durchgelegenes Bett fallen und verschränkte die Arme. „Du hast ihn gestern getroffen.“ Das war keine Frage. „Woher weißt du das?“ „Weil du immer so zurückkommst, als hätte dich jemand überfahren.“ Sie setzte sich und musterte mein Gesicht. „Was wollte er?“ Ich setzte mich neben sie. Erzählte ihr alles. Das Café. Das Foto. Vincent Russo. Dass der Raubüberfall mit Masons Familie zu tun hatte. Sloane hörte zu, ohne mich zu unterbrechen. Als ich fertig war, schwieg sie lange. „Ich wusste von Vincent“, sagte sie schließlich. „Was?“ „Seit Monaten kreist jemand um die

Es ist nun schon drei Tage her, seit Masons Lippen meine berührt hatten. Drei Tage, seit er dieses kalte Lächeln gezeigt und sich von mir abgewandt hatte, als wäre ich ein Nichts. Drei Tage, seit ich in seinem dunklen Wohnzimmer gestanden und erkannt hatte, dass ich ausgenutzt worden war.Seitdem hatte ich das Poolhaus nicht mehr verlassen.Weder um etwas zu essen, noch um frische Luft zu schnappen. Ich lag einfach nur im Bett, starrte an die Decke und ließ jeden einzelnen Moment noch einmal Revue passieren. Wie seine Hand mein Gesicht umschlossen hatte. Wie sein Mund sich auf meinen gestürzt hatte. Wie er sich zurückgezogen hatte, während seine Augen mir sagten: „Ich habe bekommen, was ich wollte“ – als wäre ich eine Eroberung. Als hätten zehn Jahre, in denen ich ihn begehrt hatte, nichts bedeutet. Ich hatte geweint, bis ich nichts mehr übrig hatte. Dann hatte ich noch mehr geweint. Jetzt fühlte ich mich einfach nur leer. Am vierten Morgen gingen mir die Ausreden aus. Mein Magen

Jedes Mal, wenn ich die Augen schloss, hörte ich seine Stimme. Wenn ich mich nicht bald von ihr distanziere, werde ich alles ruinieren. Sie. Ich. Er sprach von mir. Ich habe das Gespräch hundert Mal im Kopf durchgespielt. Ich habe sie zehn Jahre lang beobachtet. Sie sieht mich an, als wäre ich ein Möbelstück. Mason Chen hatte mich beobachtet. Zehn Jahre lang. Während ich ihn ebenfalls beobachtet hatte. Schließlich ging die Sonne auf. Ich beobachtete sie durch die Fenster des Poolhauses und überlegte, was ich tun sollte. Ich konnte es Sloane nicht erzählen. Ich konnte Mason nicht zur Rede stellen. Also tat ich, was ich immer tat. Ich tat so, als wäre nichts geschehen. Gegen Mittag hatte ich mich davon überzeugt, dass ich mir das alles nur eingebildet hatte.Ich stand in der Küche des Haupthauses, als Mason hereinkam. Ohne Hemd. Nasses Haar. Noch hingen Wassertropfen an seinen Schultern. „Lucy.“ Er holte sich einen Proteinshake aus dem Kühlschrank, ohne mich anzusehen. „Du steh

Drei Tage vergingen.Drei Tage, in denen ich Mason aus dem Weg ging. Drei Tage, in denen ich mich im Poolhaus versteckte, als hätte ich Angst vor etwas – vor ihm.Ich versuchte, nicht an die Nächte zu denken, in denen er spät nach Hause kam. Der Job-Tipp führte zu nichts. Mason hatte, wie versprochen, angerufen, aber als ich mich meldete, war die Stelle bereits vergeben. Ich verbrachte meine Tage damit, auf meinem neuen Handy Stellenanzeigen durchzublättern, Bewerbungen ins Leere zu schicken und zuzusehen, wie meine Ersparnisse fast auf null schrumpften. Vierzig Dollar in meinem Schuh. Das war alles, was ich noch hatte. Am vierten Morgen wachte ich vom Geruch von Kaffee auf. Nicht der schwache, ferne Duft aus dem Haupthaus. Dieser hier war ganz nah. Im Poolhaus. Ich setzte mich orientierungslos auf und sah Mason mit zwei Tassen in den Händen an meiner Küchenzeile stehen.„Was machst du hier?“ Ich griff nach dem Laken und zog es mir bis zum Kinn hoch. Ich trug nur ein übergroßes T-

Ich wachte auf, als Sonnenlicht hereinströmte und jemand an die Tür klopfte. Nicht auf die höfliche Art. Sondern so, als würde jemand sagen: „Das hier gehört mir, und ich hämmer an deine Tür, wenn mir danach ist.“ Laut. Eindringlich. Drei scharfe Schläge, die den Türrahmen zum Klappern brachten. „Lucy.“ Masons Stimme. Rau, als wäre er gerade erst aufgewacht. Oder vielleicht hatte er gar nicht geschlafen. Ich setzte mich zu schnell auf und verhedderte mich in den teuren weißen Laken. Die Weinflasche von gestern Abend stand noch unberührt auf der Arbeitsplatte. „Ich komme“, rief ich. Ich warf einen Blick auf mein Spiegelbild über der Kommode und bereute es sofort. Meine Haare waren eine Katastrophe. Dunkle Ringe unter meinen Augen. Ich sah genau so aus wie jemand, der die Nacht damit verbracht hatte, auf dem Boden eines Fremden zu weinen. Nur dass Mason kein Fremder war. Das war das Problem. Ich öffnete die Tür. Er lehnte am Türrahmen, eine Kaffeetasse in der Hand, und sah ungla

Fünfundvierzig Minuten später hielt Masons Mercedes vor dem Haus. Ich wusste schon, dass es sein Auto war, noch bevor ich überhaupt aufblickte. Ich hatte meine gesamte Jugend damit verbracht, auf dieses Geräusch zu lauschen, und jedes Mal schlug mein Herz wie wild, wenn Sloane erwähnte, dass er für das Wochenende aus der Stadt nach Hause kommen würde. Heute Abend schlug mein Herz aus einem anderen Grund wie wild. Das Auto parkte am Straßenrand. Die Tür öffnete sich. Und da stand er. Mason Chen. Sechs Fuß zwei an schlanken Muskeln und unbekümmerter Arroganz, dunkles Haar, das ihm von der Stirn zurückgestrichen war, als wäre er gerade aus jemandes Bett gerollt, das Kinn in jenem permanenten spöttischen Grinsen, das ihn so aussehen ließ, als wäre er von dir gelangweilt, noch bevor du überhaupt den Mund aufgemacht hattest. Er trug ein schwarzes Hemd, bei dem die oberen drei Knöpfe offen standen, eine goldene Kette, die an seinem Schlüsselbein lag, und eine Sonnenbrille, die er sich