CHAPTER 9: The Next Morning

Lyra woke to sunlight streaming through her bedroom window and the immediate, crushing weight of shame.

Her body ached in places that had nothing to do with the flight from Paris. Her thighs were still slightly sticky, her pussy tender and oversensitive. Evidence of what she'd done last night in the shower.

Evidence of how completely she'd fallen apart thinking about him.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the covers over her head, but it didn't help. She could still hear herself crying his name. Could still feel her fingers inside herself, desperately chasing an orgasm that had torn through her with devastating intensity.

Damien. Oh God, Damien.

A whimper escaped her throat.

What was wrong with her? She'd touched herself before....plenty of times. But never like that. Never so desperately, so violently, so completely consumed by need that she'd collapsed on the shower floor afterward.

And now she had to face him.

Had to sit across from him at breakfast and pretend she hadn't been fantasizing about his hands on her body, his mouth on her breasts, his cock....

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Lyra's heart jumped. She reached for it with trembling fingers, already knowing who it would be.

DarkVeil: Good morning, little one. Did you sleep well after your shower?

The phone nearly slipped from her hands.

How did he know about the shower?

She stared at the message, her pulse racing. It had to be coincidence. Just a normal question. People took showers before bed all the time.

But the timing...

LyraNight: How did you know I took a shower?

The three dots appeared immediately.

DarkVeil: Lucky guess. You always shower when you're stressed. It's one of the things I know about you.

That made sense. She'd told him about her habits over the years. About how she used hot water to calm her anxiety.

Still, something felt off.

LyraNight: I'm going to have to face him today. At breakfast. I don't know if I can do it.

DarkVeil: Yes, you can. You're stronger than you think. And who knows....maybe he's just as affected by you as you are by him.

LyraNight: That's impossible.

DarkVeil: Is it? You said his hand was shaking when he touched you yesterday. That doesn't sound like a man who's unaffected.

Lyra bit her lip, remembering. His hand HAD been shaking slightly. She'd felt the tremor through the fabric of her blouse.

But that could have been anything. Anger. Frustration. Disgust at having to deal with the family drama.

It didn't mean he wanted her.

LyraNight: I have to go. They're probably waiting for me downstairs.

DarkVeil: One more thing, Lyra. Stop fighting what you want. Stop being ashamed. There's freedom in surrender.

She stared at those words for a long moment before locking her phone and forcing herself out of bed.

The face that stared back at her from the bathroom mirror looked exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes. Lips still slightly swollen from how hard she'd bitten them last night. Her hair was a tangled mess.

She looked like exactly what she was: a woman who'd spent the night touching herself and crying.

Lyra splashed cold water on her face and tried to pull herself together.

She chose her outfit carefully...a modest cream-colored blouse with long sleeves and a high neck, paired with tailored navy pants. Nothing revealing. Nothing that could be construed as trying to attract attention.

Armor, essentially.

But when she looked in the mirror, all she could think about was Damien tearing these clothes off her body.

"Stop it," she whispered to her reflection. "Just stop."

She forced herself downstairs.

***

The formal dining room was already occupied when she arrived.

Isabelle sat at one end of the long mahogany table, looking tired but determined to maintain normalcy. Victor was reading something on his tablet, his expression troubled.

And Karla.

Karla sat in what had always been Lyra's usual seat, wearing a soft pink dress that made her look young and vulnerable. Her eyes were still slightly red, as if she'd been crying again.

The picture of a traumatized daughter finally reunited with her real family.

"Lyra!" Isabelle stood immediately, coming around the table to embrace her. "Sweetheart, how did you sleep? I know yesterday was... overwhelming."

"I'm fine, Mom." The word felt strange on her tongue now. Was Isabelle still her mom? Did she have the right to call her that?

Isabelle seemed to sense her hesitation because her grip tightened. "You're still my daughter," she whispered fiercely. "Blood doesn't change that. Do you understand me?"

Lyra's eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. She nodded mutely.

"Good morning, Lyra." Victor's voice was gruff but warm. "Come, sit. Mrs. Chen made your favorite.....blueberry pancakes."

Lyra moved toward her usual chair, then stopped.

Karla was sitting in it.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Karla looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes that didn't quite match the slight curve of her lips.

"Oh," Karla said softly. "Is this your seat? I'm so sorry, I didn't realize. Everything is so new and confusing..." Her voice trailed off, wobbling just slightly.

"It's fine." Lyra forced a smile. "You can sit there."

She moved to the chair beside it instead, trying to ignore the small victory she'd just handed over.

The staff brought out breakfast...the beautiful spread of pancakes, fresh fruit, bacon, eggs. Food that normally would have made her mouth water.

Today, it all tasted like ash.

"So," Victor said, clearly trying to navigate the awkwardness. "Karla was just telling us about her childhood. The Mercers sound like they were wonderful people."

"They were." Karla's voice was soft, sad. "I wish you could have met them. They... they passed away six months ago. Car accident."

Isabelle made a sound of sympathy. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. To lose your parents and then discover all of this..."

Lyra felt something twist in her chest. The Mercers. Her biological parents. Dead.

She would never meet them. Would never know them. Would never have the chance to understand where she really came from.

"It must be so strange for you," Karla continued, looking at Lyra with those too-innocent eyes. "Finding out you don't really belong here. That your whole life has been... wrong."

The words landed like a slap.

"Karla." Victor's voice was sharp. "That's enough."

"I'm sorry!" Karla's eyes widened. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant... it must be hard. For both of us. We're both displaced, in a way."

"Lyra is NOT displaced," Isabelle said firmly. "This is her home. It always has been and always will be."

Karla's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before she dropped her gaze to her plate. "Of course. I didn't mean to offend anyone."

But the damage was done. The words hung in the air, poisoning the atmosphere.

Lyra pushed a blueberry around her plate and tried not to think about how Karla had very deliberately taken her seat, her place, her....

The dining room door opened.

Every nerve in Lyra's body went haywire.