Chapter 6: Losing His Mind

(Lyra’s POV)

"Can I ask for something warm? Just... something simple."

The maid blinked at me, caught off guard by my sudden appearance in the kitchen. I hadn’t expected anyone to still be working this late.

She nodded quickly. "Of course, Madam. Please, sit. You look tired."

I gave her a polite smile and lowered myself into the nearest chair. My lower back ached, my ankles were swollen, and the baby had been kicking since I woke from my nap.

It had only been a few hours since Rhys dragged me back here, and yet the air inside the villa already felt heavy again—like walking into a room where all the windows had been shut for too long. Everything about this place was suffocating.

I ate quietly, every bite mechanical. Then I returned upstairs, moving slower now. My belly made everything a chore—bending, lifting, walking. Sleep, at least, was the one escape I could still rely on.

Down the hall, behind a closed study door, Rhys sat at his desk, his jaw clenched so tightly it could’ve cracked his teeth.

The screen in front of him was filled with graphs and reports, numbers blurring together like static. He’d told himself that now—finally—he could get back to work. That her return would restore some sense of order.

But it hadn’t.

His pen sat untouched. His mind couldn’t focus.

That child... her child. My child.

He tried to push the thought away. He told himself he didn’t care, that he couldn’t care. It was just a mistake, an unwanted complication—an extension of a woman whose bloodline he loathed.

And yet...

Every time he pictured her in that mountain village, belly round and cheeks flushed, smiling at strangers like she belonged there... something inside him twisted.

I woke just after nine, the room dim with fading sunlight. My throat felt dry, so I slipped into my oversized pajamas and padded downstairs quietly, hoping not to run into anyone. Just a glass of water. That was all I needed.

The house was too quiet. No footsteps. No voices. It felt like I was the only person in this grand, echoing mansion. I stepped into the kitchen, filled my glass, and leaned against the counter, lost in thought.

He didn’t take me to the hospital.

Does that mean… he’s letting the baby live?

My hand drifted to my belly as the baby shifted, reminding me he was still with me, still safe—for now.

The sound of an engine pulled me from my thoughts.

Headlights spilled into the driveway as a sleek black car slowed to a stop. I moved toward the staircase to avoid him, but the door opened just as I reached the bottom step.

And then I froze.

Rhys stepped in, shirtless, breathing heavy, skin glistening like he’d just run through fire.

I turned away instantly, heat rushing to my face. Why is he like that? He looked wild, unhinged—his usual cold restraint replaced with something darker.

“Come here.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was deep, hoarse—almost raw. My fingers tightened around the glass.

“I just came down for water.” My words were small. Controlled.

“Lyra.” My name in his voice made my spine stiffen. “Come here.”

I hesitated for a moment, then slowly approached. The moment I stepped into the living room, I noticed something was wrong.

His eyes.

They were bloodshot, fevered. There was a tension in his jaw, a restless twitch in his fingers. It wasn’t just exhaustion or stress. Something had ignited in him.

And it was aimed at me.

He was already seated on the couch, watching me like a wolf that had finally cornered its prey.

I swallowed, hard. “We need to talk. About the baby.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared at me, chest rising and falling faster than it should have been. My instincts screamed.

“You’ve had something,” I said cautiously. “Did you drink? Or take something—?”

He shifted, suddenly rising. I flinched.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

I stepped back, hands instinctively shielding my stomach. “I’m eight months pregnant. I’m about to give birth. You can’t—this isn’t—”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped. His voice cracked like a whip in the silence. “Do you think I haven’t imagined this? For months, Lyra. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The room tilted. I had no idea what was happening—what was in his system, what he’d been through. But this wasn’t the Rhys I remembered.

“I’m not yours to use anymore,” I said, my voice trembling despite my best effort.

He moved faster than I expected, reaching for my wrist, but this time I yanked it away.

“Don’t touch me!”

He blinked, stunned. For a split second, there was something like clarity in his eyes. But it passed as quickly as it came.

I turned and rushed toward the stairs, nearly slipping. “If you care even a little about your child, you won’t come near me tonight.”

His voice followed me up the steps, low and cracked:

“Lyra... I don't know how to stop.”