Chapter 2. Nothing Will Ever Be the Same

“Are you always this careless when choosing a hiding place?” Kenzo’s voice did not rise, yet its chill was enough to freeze the remnants of tears on Lyra’s cheeks.

He did not look at her. He kept his eyes on the digital tablet resting on his lap. The white glow from the screen illuminated half of his chiseled face. His jawline looked sharp, perfectly composed. A stark contrast to Lyra, who felt completely shattered.

Lyra tried to steady her breathing. The adrenaline that had fueled her moments ago was fading. Her body suddenly felt boneless and weak. The sting in her wrist became painfully real. Hans’s grip had left angry red marks against her pale skin.

“I didn’t have another choice,” Lyra whispered.

A small sob slipped past her lips. She tried to suppress it, but her defenses crumbled. The tears she had forced herself to hold back in front of Hans now poured freely. She cried without sound. Her shoulders trembled violently. Her disappointment was too immense to be contained in a single night.

Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days of giving her heart for free, and its worth had turned out to be nothing more than a downtown apartment unit. Every sweet word Hans had ever spoken now felt like spit against her face.

Something soft brushed against the back of her hand. She startled and saw a dark gray silk handkerchief. The initials KA were embroidered in shimmering gold thread at the corner.

“Wipe your tears,” Kenzo ordered flatly. “The interior of this car is too expensive to be soaked in teenage drama.”

Lyra took the handkerchief. She dabbed at her tears hesitantly. The fabric felt cool and impossibly smooth against her skin. Kenzo then extended a bottle of mineral water, already opened.

“Drink.”

Lyra accepted it. She gulped the water greedily. Her dry throat felt slightly better. The cold liquid helped clear her chaotic thoughts. Only then did she realize she was sitting beside the most mysterious man in this city.

The car moved steadily forward. The busy streets outside were reduced to streaks of light behind the dark tinted windows. The silence inside felt deafening. Lyra was afraid to move, afraid that her sweat and tears would stain the leather seats that seemed worth more than her own life. Beside Kenzo, even breathing felt like an offense.

“Why would you let yourself be taken by a stranger?” Kenzo asked suddenly.

This time he turned off his tablet and shifted slightly toward her. His sharp eyes locked onto her swollen ones. His gaze felt like it was dissecting her thoughts.

Lyra fell quiet. She stared at the remaining water in the plastic bottle. She thought of Hans. She thought of the man she once adored, who had turned out to be nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Because a stranger has never promised me a future before stabbing me in the back. I would rather face a visible threat than betrayal wrapped in love,” Lyra replied, her voice far steadier now.

Kenzo did not respond immediately. He leaned back against the seat. One corner of his lips lifted slightly. A faint spark of interest flickered in his cold eyes.

“That’s a bold answer,” he said without expression. “But you do realize I am not an ordinary stranger.”

“I know who you are, Mr. Alberto,” Lyra replied bravely. “Everyone knows who holds the power in this city.”

“Then why aren’t you afraid? I could be worse than that coward out there.” He gestured behind him with his fingers.

Lyra met his gaze head on.

“At least you didn’t pretend to love me for an apartment,” she said bitterly.

Kenzo let out a short scoff that sounded almost like a dismissive laugh. He looked forward again. The silence returned, but the tension between them had eased slightly.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Lyra. Lyra Cullen.”

“Your age?”

“Twenty one. Today,” Lyra answered, her tone edged with irony.

Kenzo did not offer birthday wishes. A man like him did not indulge in pleasantries. He merely tapped his finger against the armrest.

The car slowed. They entered an area marked by a magnificent gold plated gate. The Grand Alberto Hotel.

The driver stepped out and opened the door for Kenzo. He exited gracefully and stood beside the open door, waiting for Lyra.

Lyra hesitated before stepping out, her thoughts racing toward the future that awaited her once tied to this man.

“Get out, Lyra. I don’t have all night to wait for you in the car,” Kenzo said firmly.

She stepped out unsteadily. The cold night air pierced her skin, clad only in a thin party dress. Several hotel staff in immaculate uniforms bowed as Kenzo passed.

“Good evening, Mr. Alberto,” they greeted in unison.

Kenzo gave a slight nod and continued walking toward a tightly guarded private elevator. Lyra followed behind him like a shadow.

Top floor. A luxurious penthouse accessible only to Kenzo.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a vast space with glass walls overlooking the entire city. The furniture was minimalist yet extravagantly expensive. Lyra stood frozen in the middle of the room.

“You’re going to let me go now?” she asked anxiously.

Kenzo removed his black suit jacket and draped it over the arm of the sofa. He loosened his tie with one hand. The movement was effortless, authoritative, and dangerous.

“Let you go? In the middle of the night dressed like that?”

He gestured toward the tear on Lyra’s shoulder where Hans had grabbed her.

Only then did she realize how disheveled she looked. Her hair was tangled. Her makeup was ruined by tears. She looked like the victim of a robbery.

Kenzo pressed a button on the wall. Moments later, a middle aged woman in a neatly pressed maid uniform entered.

“You called for me, sir?” she asked politely.

“Take her to the farthest guest room,” Kenzo ordered. “Prepare warm water. Bring her proper clothes. Make sure they fit.”

The woman nodded obediently. “Yes, sir. This way, miss.”

Lyra looked at Kenzo, confused. “Why are you doing this?”

Kenzo stepped closer. His footsteps made no sound against the thick carpet. He stopped directly in front of her. They stood very close.

He lowered his head, bringing his face near her ear.

“Tonight you are a guest of the Alberto,” he whispered. “Your boyfriend would not dare set foot here.”

A strange sense of protection wrapped around her. Yet beneath that protection lay an even greater unease.

“Tomorrow morning, we will discuss the price you must pay for that safety,” he added, pulling away.

Kenzo gave her one last look before turning toward his office. His broad back looked unyielding. He was a wall Hans could never breach.

Lyra followed the maid to the guest room. It was enormous, larger than her own bedroom.

“Please take a bath, miss. If you need anything, press the button beside the bed,” the maid said kindly before leaving.

Lyra closed the door and locked it from the inside.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. The torn dress on her shoulder was proof of how cheaply Hans had valued her. But behind her swollen eyes, a flame had begun to burn.

“The price to be paid,” she murmured, echoing Kenzo’s words.

She did not care what it would cost. If it meant she could destroy Hans and prove she was not merely dessert, Lyra would do anything. Even if she had to sell her soul to the lion waiting in the next room.

“Hans… I will return. Not as the obedient girl you knew, but as a ruin you never imagined.”

Lyra released her grip on the edge of the sink. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, she would no longer be the Lyra who could be bought with sweet promises. She would become a price Hans could never afford to pay.