Seven

Lyra sat at the dining table, a generous spread of food placed neatly in front of her. Her tablet was open, and she was quietly reading through documents.

The house was calm.

Then she heard footsteps from the stairs.

She looked up.

Lucien came down slowly.

He wore a plain white shirt and black trousers. His hair was slightly messy, yet he still carried himself with surprising elegance.

Each step was steady, controlled, almost disciplined. His hand rested lightly on the railing as he descended.

He still looked unfamiliar in modern clothing. In his time, he would have worn long, modest robes with no exposure.

He had chosen the simplest clothes available, yet even so, Lucien looked out of place in them in a strange way, as though he had stepped out of another world entirely.

When he reached the bottom, he walked to the table and sat down.

His eyes immediately fixed on the food.

For a brief moment, his calm expression broke.

He was hungry.

The hospital food had been bland and tasteless. This, however, looked rich and appetizing.

He picked up his spoon and began to eat.

Carefully.

Composed.

Each movement was refined, controlled, almost graceful, as if eating itself was an art.

Lyra watched him without realizing it.

He did not rush. He did not make noise. He simply ate with quiet elegance.

For the first time, she noticed something different.

He looked… almost royal.

She blinked and quickly returned her attention to her food, but her eyes kept drifting back to him.

The dinner continued in silence.

No one spoke.

Only the soft sound of cutlery filled the space.

When Lucien finished eating and stood up to leave, Lyra finally spoke.

“Wait.”

He paused and looked at her.

“What?”

She studied him for a moment.

“Do you really not remember anything?”

He met her gaze.

“Do I look like I am acting?”

His tone was calm, almost indifferent.

Lyra was slightly taken aback. He had answered back, but not in the loud or arrogant way she was used to. There was distance in his voice. A strange calmness that made him harder to read.

She composed herself.

“Since we agreed not to divorce for six months, you are still my husband during this period,” she said. “Which means you must follow certain rules.”

His expression did not change.

“You cannot be involved with anyone else, and you must respect my family. Even though this marriage is only in name, you still have responsibilities. In return, I will let you stay here until your memory returns. Deal?”

Lucien let out a quiet snort.

Everything is the same.

A marriage without love. Rules for one side. Freedom for the other.

But he was not the same man who accepted everything silently anymore.

“Fine,” he said. “But you also cannot be involved with anyone else or keep any other consorts.”

Lyra froze slightly.

“If you do,” he continued calmly, “I will make their lives very difficult. I am not the only one who should remain faithful in this marriage, even if it exists only on paper.”

Her brows twitched.

Consorts?

What kind of language is he using?

Is he acting like he is from some historical drama?

She exhaled slowly and controlled her expression.

“Fine,” she replied.

Lucien gave a small nod.

“If there is nothing else, I am leaving.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked upstairs.

Lyra’s eyes darkened slightly as she watched him go.

Was he always like this?

Or was this because of the memory loss?

If this was the side effect… then maybe it was better if he never recovered.

At least this version of him was easier to tolerate.

But then another thought crept in.

If he never remembers, does that mean he will never remember loving me either?

She frowned at the thought.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath. “I need to go to the hospital.”

She stood up, left the dining table, and headed toward her study on the first floor.