Chapter 5

Lemar's POV

Lemar’s POV

I woke up and reached across the bed, but my hand touched only cold sheets. My eyes opened slowly, and the morning light slipped through the heavy curtains.

The other side of the bed was empty.

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my face. It was eight a.m. The room was too quiet. I put my feet on the soft carpet and stood, looking around the suite. Her clothes were gone. The only trace of Tyrra was the faint smell in the air, still on the sheets, reminding me of last night.

It all came back in flashes—the heat, the way she had undone me without trying. And then nothing. Just silence.

I cursed under my breath, grabbed my phone, and called the driver.

“Good morning, Mr. Domino,” came the reply.

“The woman from yesterday,” I asked, trying to sound calm but feeling tense. “Is her car still outside?”

“No, sir. It was gone when I arrived an hour ago.”

The line clicked off. I paced the room, my chest tight with questions I couldn’t answer. Where had she gone? Who took her?

All I could do was breathe and hope. Hope that fate, or something stronger, would bring Tyrra back into my life.

But for now, I had to focus on my cousin’s wedding. I pushed down my irritation and stepped into the shower.

Hot water poured over me, but it did nothing to wash away the memory of Tyrra—her moans, the heat of her skin, the way she made me feel alive. She was gone now, leaving nothing but her scent and memories.

I toweled off and dressed carefully: a crisp white shirt, a tailored suit, polished shoes. I was fastening my cufflinks when my phone buzzed. It was my mother.

“Morning, Mom,” I said, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Lemar, darling, are you alright? I just heard about the accident…”

“I’m fine,” I cut in quickly. “Not hurt at all.”

“Good. Then listen to me, you need to come home.”

“Home? Why? How’s the wedding?”

Her voice dropped, heavy with tension. “There is no wedding. The bride jilted your cousin. It’s been called off.”

The cufflink slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the dresser. “What?”

“I don’t know the details,” she sighed. “Just come home. Maybe Flavier will explain when you get here.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended. I stared at the mirror, my reflection blurring as questions swirled in my mind. The bride ran away? Flavier’s bride?

I shoved my wallet and keys into my pocket, casting one last look at the empty suite. Tyrra’s perfume still clung faintly to the air. I left.

As the car carried me back to the family estate, my thoughts tangled into one storm: Who was the woman who had disappeared from my bed? Why had she left without a word? And what in God’s name had happened to my cousin’s wedding?

When I arrived, my mother was already at the door, her face lined with worry. She pulled me into a quick hug.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, confused.

“Come to the study. Your father’s waiting.”

Inside, the air was thick with tension. I shut the door behind me. “What’s this about Flavier being jilted?”

My mother’s lips pressed tight. “According to his own mother, he was with his lover last night. Then he showed up this morning, said there would be no wedding, and left without explaining. Packed his bags and walked out.”

I frowned, settling across from my father. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” my mother confirmed, frustration sharpening her voice. “Can you imagine the humiliation? Poor Flavier, ruined. And the family dragged down with him.”

I leaned back, exhaling. “Better a broken engagement than a broken marriage.”

His father gave a short nod, then leaned forward. “Speaking of family matters… now that you’re back, we need to talk about the company. I’m stepping down. At the next shareholders’ meeting, you’ll take over.”

I arched a brow. “Take over as in… actually run things my way? Or just play the puppet while you pull the strings?”

My father chuckled, a rare warmth softening his face. “Run it your way. I’m old, Lemar. I’m tired. All I want now is golf and peace.”

“You’re in your early sixties, not exactly ancient,” I replied, my tone half-teasing, half-serious. I leaned forward, my eyes steady. “I’ll take the reins, but don’t expect me to stand in front of cameras, saying words I don’t mean or pretending to be someone I’m not.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I understand your need to stay out of the spotlight. I’ve respected it before, and I won’t stop now.”

Some of my tension eased. I gave a small nod in return.

“Then,” my father said quietly, almost as if testing the weight of the words, “I think I’m ready to pass the reins to you.”