Chapter 7 ✨Lyra

I don’t go back to Serena’s house for three days.

Not because she asks me not to.

Because I don’t trust myself.

Every time my phone lights up with her name, my chest tightens first before relief follows. I make excuses. Work. Headaches. Deadlines. Anything that keeps me from stepping into that house again.

From stepping into him.

Soren Blackwell has taken up unwanted space in my thoughts. In the quiet moments. In the middle of my workday. In the seconds before sleep when my mind should be blank but instead replays fragments I never agreed to remember.

His voice in the kitchen.

The warmth of his hand around mine.

The way his eyes darkened before he pulled away like I’d burned him.

That part hurts the most.

I tell myself I imagined it. That I misread the tension. That my body filled in blanks, my mind was too lonely to stop.

But my body doesn’t forget.

I catch myself staring at nothing, lips parted, breath shallow then I shake it off like a bad habit.

This is Serena’s father.

A widower.

Older.

Off-limits in ways that go beyond logic.

I should be repulsed by the idea alone.

Instead, I ache.

Friday evening comes faster than I’d like. Serena insists on dinner. No excuses accepted. I cave because I miss her, because I miss normal.

I arrived late on purpose.

The house is already alive when I walk in; music low, laughter drifting from the dining area. I exhale slowly, grounding myself.

He’s not here yet.

Good.

I hug Serena, greet her brother and keep my smile easy. I even laugh. For a moment, I almost forget why my shoulders are tense.

Then the front door opens.

I feel him before I see him.

The room shifts….subtle, but undeniable. My spine straightens. My heart stutters like it’s tripped over itself.

Soren steps inside, jacket draped over one arm, tie loosened just enough to suggest he’s tired. His gaze sweeps the room automatically….until it finds me.

The pause is brief.

But it’s real.

His jaw tightens. Just slightly.

“Lyra,” he says.

My name sounds different in his mouth. Quieter. Heavier.

“Sir,” I reply before I can stop myself.

Something flickers in his eyes at that. Not irritation. Something deeper. Something restrained.

Dinner is torture.

Not because anything happens but because nothing does.

We sit across from each other, careful, polite. Our conversations never overlap, but our awareness does. Every time he shifts in his chair, I notice. Every time I move, I wonder if he does too.

Once….just once….our knees brush under the table.

The contact is accidental.

The reaction is not.

He stills instantly. I suck in a breath like I’ve been startled. Our eyes meet for half a second too long before we both look away.

No one notices.

Except us.

After dinner, I escaped to the backyard under the excuse of fresh air. The night is cool, quiet. I lean against the railing, pressing my palms into the wood like it might anchor me.

“Running away again?”

His voice comes from behind me.

I close my eyes.

“I needed air,” I say softly.

He steps closer but not too close. He never crosses that invisible line. I hate how much that restraint makes me want him more.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly.

I turn. “For what?”

“For making things… complicated.”

My throat tightens. “You didn’t.”

We stand there, suspended in something fragile. He looks like a man at war with himself and I hate that I’m part of the battle.

“This can’t happen,” he says quietly.

I nod, even though the words sting. “I know.”

Silence settles again.

Then he adds, almost too softly to hear, “That doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

That’s the moment I realize this isn’t one-sided.

And that realization terrifies me more than anything else.

Because wanting him is one thing.

Knowing he wants me too?

That changes everything.

I leave shortly after, heart pounding, mind spinning.

And for the first time since this began, I admit the truth to myself:

This isn’t a crush.

This isn’t curiosity.

This is the kind of desire that ruins carefully built lines.

And I don’t know how much longer either of us can keep pretending they exist.