Sweet Mafia Protector

Lyra’s POV

“LYRAAAA!"

Meera’s scream tore through the mansion, sharp enough to shatter glass. I flinched but didn’t move, gripping the broom in my hands like a lifeline. Again.

Whatever petty complaint she had this time, I wasn’t in the mood. Ever since my parents died and my Uncle took me in,I’ve been nothing but a slave in this house.

But the silence that followed was worse. No second shout. No stomping footsteps. Just… waiting.

Something was wrong.

I forced myself down the stairs, my pulse hammering in my throat. The dining room doors were wide open, and the moment I stepped inside, the air turned to ice.

Meera sat at the table, smirking. Uncle Zorah lounged beside her, his fingers steepled like a king on his throne. And across from them—

A man.

Strange. Old. Heavy-lidded eyes that crawled over me like damp fingers. A smile too wide, too knowing.

“Ah. Here she is."

Uncle Zorah slid a document across the table, the gold seal glinting under the chandelier.

“Sign”. It wasn’t a request . It was a command.

I stared at the paper,the seal blurring before my eyes. A contract. A marriage contract. My throat tightened.

Meera twirled a strand of her around her finger,her smirk widening. “Don’t look so surprised .You really didn’t think you’d live here for free forever or did you?”

“I don’t … I don’t understand but to whom??” I stammered in confusion. This was all so sudden.

Then a voice shot from across the room, it was the stranger who I hadn’t paid much attention to.

“Hello little bride”.

I couldn’t breathe. The words "little bride" hammered in my mind, each repetition striking my chest like a warning bell. Little bride. The man’s voice dripped with mockery, his gaze a calculated caress that sent a shiver racing down my spine.

I gripped the broomstick tighter, the wood pressing into my palm as if it could ground me in this bizarre reality. But this was no reality; it was a twisted farce that had been forced upon me.

Uncle Zorah's cold eyes fixed on me, his silent expectation weighing heavily in the air. Meera’s insufferable smirk didn’t even try to conceal her delight. She thrived on my confusion and fear, reveling in the moment she had long anticipated—my submission.

“You didn’t think you could escape this, did you?” Meera purred, her voice sweet but laced with venom. “Nothing’s free, Lyra. Not even your life.”

My heart raced, a surge of rage and defiance flooding my veins. This was the moment I had dreaded: the price for years of servitude. A contract. A marriage to a man whose face I hadn’t genuinely bothered to learn until this moment.

I dared to glance at the stranger again. He was old—far too old—his features sunken and pallid, resembling a corpse masquerading as a living man. His smile widened as our eyes met, the look on his face predatory, ready to pounce. He embodied everything I despised about this house, about my life, and the chains that tightened around me with every passing day.

“Sign it,” Uncle Zorah said again, his voice smooth, almost dismissive. “We’re waiting, Lyra, hunny.”

But I wasn’t going to back down. Not now. Not ever.

I blinked, trying to clear the haze in my head. “To whom?” I repeated, my voice trembling. “who is going to sign the contract? What do you even want from me?”

The stranger leaned forward, his voice a low rasp that sent a prickle of dread crawling down my back. “You, my dear, are the key to securing your uncle's… future.” His smile twisted even further, and for a split second, I thought I might throw up.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time. And I’m not one for patience.”

His words cut through me, sharp and final. The weight of the situation, the knowledge that I was being sold like cattle, hit me all at once, crashing through my fragile defences. The contract, the marriage, everything—it was all for a single purpose, and it wasn’t love or family. It was power. It was control.

“You think I’m going to sign that?” I spat, my voice cracking with defiance.

Meera raised an eyebrow, amused by my outburst. “What else can you do, Lyra? Do you think you have a choice in this? You’ve been nothing more than a servant in this house, and now you’re going to be his. Just sign, and it’s over.”

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on me. My chest tightened, my pulse racing. I wanted to scream, to tear the paper apart, to burn it. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

All the rage, all the frustration of living in this gilded cage for so long, surged up in me. I wouldn’t be their pawn. I wouldn’t let them decide my fate.

I shoved the broomstick away from me, my fists clenched tight enough to draw blood from my palms. “No. I will not sign.”

The room went still, a taut silence hanging between us. For a moment, it felt like time itself had frozen, and then the air was thick with tension. Meera’s smirk faltered just a little, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to undo what had already been set in motion. The anger, the fire, it felt hollow. I wanted to fight, to destroy everything they stood for. But in the end, all I could feel was an overwhelming wave of helplessness, like being crushed under the weight of my defiance.

“I said no,” I whispered, but the words came out weak, useless.

Uncle Zorah’s eyes darkened. The stranger leaned back in his chair, his smile never fading, just widening.

I was trapped.

And in that moment, the truth hit me harder than any slap. There was no escaping this. No way out.

I was a prisoner to an old cargo, a damn old man.

“There should be a way out” I said urgently, darting my gaze from the old man to my silly head uncle.

“What's the out, lyra?”

And then, something snapped.