CHAPTER 1: Rules of the Nocturne House

LYRA

“Lyra Nocturne!”

The sound of my full name shot through the walls like a bullet, dragging me out of my half-dream. I groaned and shoved my face deeper into the pillow, praying she’d give up. No such luck. Mom never gave up.

“Get out of that bed, you lazy girl!” she yelled again, her voice sharp enough to cut through my bedroom door.

God. Why did mornings in this house always feel like boot camp?

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slow, lazy circles above me. My whole body screamed for sleep. After all, I’d been up until two a.m. sending out job applications like my life depended on it. But in this house? Sleep was a crime punishable by nagging, and nagging was worse than death.

“Lyra!”

The third call made me flinch. Full name plus that tone? Yeah, I was a goner. She’d be up here in seconds, probably banging the door open like she owned every molecule of air I breathed.

I bolted out of bed, nearly tripping over my blanket, and ran to the bathroom. A quick splash of water on my face, toothpaste foaming in my mouth check. Brushing my teeth at lightning speed, I could already hear her footsteps on the stairs.

Crap.

I spat, rinsed, and dashed back to my room. My knees hit the floor hard as I clamped my eyes shut and folded my hands in a hasty “prayer.” Maybe if she found me looking holy, she’d leave me alone.

The door slammed open so hard the walls rattled. My chest jerked, heart leaping against my ribs, but I didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. I lay perfectly still, lashes pressed together, pretending to sleep.

The air shifted her presence unmistakable. It wasn’t just that my mother was in the room; it was the weight she carried with her. That sharp, judging silence that scraped across my skin harder than any slap.

She didn’t knock. She never knocked. Privacy was something she believed only weak people needed.

Seconds dragged. I cracked one eye open.

Empty doorway.

Gone.

A shaky breath slipped out of me, loosening the knot in my chest. First ambush of the morning survived.

That sealed it. I was leaving today. Whatever it took, I was going back to my apartment. At least Laura, my roommate, didn’t burst into my room like she owned my soul. At least Laura understood the sacred meaning of a closed door.

I yanked my nightgown over my head and shoved into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. In this house, showing up at breakfast in pajamas was basically declaring war. My parents had rules hundreds of them and breaking even one meant you didn’t leave the table with your dignity intact. Out in the real world, I lived like any other twenty-five-year-old. Here? Here, I was still their soldier, expected to follow orders.

The scent of butter and fried eggs hit me before I reached the dining room. The long oak table gleamed under the chandelier, not a crumb in sight, because God forbid crumbs existed in my mother’s kingdom. Dad sat in his throne-like chair at the head of the table, glasses balanced on the edge of his nose, his thumb scrolling over his phone. Mom paced the length of the table like a commander checking her lines.

“Good morning, Dad. Good morning, Mom,” I muttered, sliding into a chair.

“Good morning, my little princess,” Dad replied without looking up, his tone warm and automatic. He’d called me that since I was five. I managed a weak smile, keeping my eyes on my plate. If I ate fast enough, maybe I could dodge today’s round of interrogations.

But Mom’s voice sliced through my plan like a blade. “So, when are you moving in?”

The question landed like a slap. I coughed, nearly choking on my water.

I twisted toward her. “What?”

“You’ll be taking over the family business.” She said it flatly, as if she were asking me to pass the butter. “Your father can’t do this forever. It’s time you stepped up.”

For one insane second, I thought she was joking. She wasn’t. Her chin lifted in that familiar way, lips pressed in a line that meant this wasn’t up for debate.

“I’m not moving in,” I said. My voice shook, but I forced steel into the words.

Dad lowered his phone at last. His eyes locked on me, sharp and unreadable. “Why not?”

“Because…” The word caught in my throat. My palms were slick against the edge of the table. Screw it. “Because I don’t want anything to do with the family business.”

The table went silent.

Mom’s hand slammed down, the dishes clattering. “Ungrateful!” she snapped, her voice echoing against the walls. “We gave you freedom, education, everything you asked for. And now you sit here refusing the only responsibility that matters. What exactly do you plan to do? Waste away in that apartment with your… friend?” She spat the last word like poison.

I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached. My instinct screamed at me to stay quiet, to survive, but something hotter pressed against my ribs, demanding to be said.

“I don’t believe in it,” I shot back. My pulse thudded hard in my ears, but I didn’t break eye contact. “Werewolves aren’t real. Hunting them? It’s nothing but bedtime stories you’ve twisted into work. I’m not wasting my life chasing monsters that don’t exist.”

Dad’s face hardened, the warmth gone in an instant. He set his phone down carefully, folding his hands together. His gaze burned into me until my stomach turned to ice.

“You have two weeks,” he said, each word sharp as glass. “Find a job. Or you join the organization. Whether you like it or not.”

He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping the floor. His footsteps were heavy, final, as he left the room. Mom glared at me one last time, lips pressed thin, before following him out.

The silence left behind was deafening.

My pulse hammered in my throat. Two weeks. Just two weeks to prove I could stand on my own or lose everything.

I shoved back my chair so hard it nearly toppled and bolted upstairs. Clothes flew into my bag, no folding, no order, just desperation.

By the time the taxi pulled up outside, my chest was tight with adrenaline. I threw myself inside and slammed the door shut, as if the house might reach out and drag me back.

As the car rumbled away, the tension finally cracked. I sank against the seat, exhaling like I hadn’t breathed in hours.

“God, I missed you, freedom,” I whispered, a grin tugging at my lips. “I’m coming home, Laura.”

But the smile faded just as quickly. Two weeks. Just two weeks to prove I could stand on my own or else I’d be dragged back into a world I wanted no part of.