Chapter five

CHAPTER 5: WEDDING DAY

Rain pelted the windows of the black town car as it pulled up to the Manhattan courthouse. Lyra stared at the imposing stone building, her stomach twisting into knots.

"This is it," the driver announced, opening an umbrella and coming around to her door.

Lyra clutched her designer handbag, knuckles white. Inside was a New York driver's license with Jane's name and her face—another piece of the detailed fraud that had consumed the past ten days of her life.

"Miss McCormick?" the driver prompted when she didn't move.

The name jolted her back to reality. She was Jane now. Jane McCormick, soon to be Jane Blackwood.

Lyra stepped out, sheltered under the large black umbrella. Her cream Chanel suit, selected by Jane for its "appropriately bridal but businesslike" appearance, already felt like a costume.

The four-inch Louboutins pinched her toes as she climbed the courthouse steps.

In the grand marble lobby, a tall man in an impeccable suit checked his watch. When he spotted Lyra, his expression remained neutral, but his posture straightened.

"Miss McCormick," he said, extending his hand. "Maxwell Parker. Mr. Blackwood's attorney."

Lyra shook his hand, remembering Jane's coaching: firm grip, direct eye contact, slight smile. Never show uncertainty.

"A pleasure," she replied in the cool, slightly bored tone she'd practiced for hours. "I trust everything is prepared?"

"Of course." He gestured toward an elevator. "We're in Courtroom B on the third floor. The judge is waiting."

As they rode up in silence, Lyra fought to keep her breathing steady.

The dinner with Ryker's lawyers had gone smoothly—she'd said little, smiled when appropriate, and signed the prenuptial agreement with Jane's practiced signature.

Ryker had appeared briefly on video, his face partially shadowed, his voice deep and disinterested as he confirmed the arrangements.

But this was different. This was fraud. This was legally binding.

The elevator doors opened. Maxwell Parker led her down a hallway lined with dark wooden panels. Their footsteps echoed against the marble floor.

"Mr. Blackwood regrets that business prevents his physical presence," Parker said, as if reading her thoughts. "He'll join via secure video link for the essential portions of the ceremony."

"Of course," Lyra replied. "Business comes first."

Parker gave her an appraising look. "I'm glad you understand that. Many women wouldn't."

The courtroom was smaller than Lyra had expected—just a judge's bench, a few rows of seats, and a large screen mounted on the wall. Jane's father, Loren McCormick, stood near the front, his expression unreadable.

"Jane," he said, kissing her cheek without warmth. "You look appropriate."

It was the first time Lyra had met him in person. During their prep sessions, Jane had described him perfectly: tall, silver-haired, with cold eyes that assessed everyone's value in dollars and cents.

"Father," Lyra replied, mimicking Jane's detached tone.

A court clerk approached. "We're ready to begin. The judge will be in shortly."

Lyra glanced around the nearly empty room. "Are there no other witnesses?"

"Privacy was a stipulation in the contract," Parker said. "Just the legal minimum—your father, myself, and the judge."

The door behind the bench opened, and a gray-haired woman in robes entered. "All rise for the Honorable Judge Helen Winters."

As they sat again, the large screen flashed to life. Ryker Blackwood appeared, his face clearer than it had been during the brief dinner video call. He sat at a desk, Tokyo's night skyline visible through windows behind him.

Lyra's breath caught. Images and articles hadn't prepared her for the intensity of his presence, even through a screen. His dark eyes seemed to pierce through her, his expression coolly assessing.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his dark hair precisely styled. He was handsome in a severe, intimidating way—all sharp angles and controlled power.

"Mr. Blackwood," the judge acknowledged. "Thank you for joining us. Shall we proceed?"

Ryker nodded once. His gaze shifted to Lyra, staying in a way that made her skin prickle. Did he suspect something? Could he somehow tell she wasn't Jane?

"Miss McCormick," he said, his voice deep and measured. "You look well."

Four simple words, yet they carried a weight of expectation that made Lyra's pulse quicken.

"Mr. Blackwood," she replied with a slight nod, forcing herself to hold his gaze while channeling Jane's practiced indifference.

The judge cleared her throat. "We're here today to formalize the marriage of Ryker Alexander Blackwood and Jane Elizabeth McCormick. As requested, we'll keep the ceremony brief and to legal requirements only."

The proceedings moved quickly. The judge spoke of commitment and legal partnership in dispassionate terms that seemed fitting for this sterile arrangement.

When prompted, Lyra and Ryker exchanged the simplest of vows—yes to legal union, yes to the terms outlined in their prenuptial agreement, yes to becoming husband and wife in the eyes of the law.

No mention of love. No promise of faithfulness. Just a business transaction with the weight of ancient tradition behind it.

"The rings, please," the judge said.

Parker handed Lyra a simple platinum band. On screen, Ryker held up a matching ring.

"These will be exchanged in person upon Mr. Blackwood's return to New York," Parker explained to the judge. "For now, we'll proceed with the documentation."

The marriage certificate was placed before Lyra. Her mouth went dry as she stared at the blank line awaiting Jane McCormick's signature.

This was the moment—the point of no return. Once she signed this document, she was committing a felony.

She thought of her empty bank account, of Mr. Patel's eviction notice, of her dreams of writing without financial pressure. She thought of Jane, sitting on a beach somewhere, laughing at how easily her plan had come together.

"Miss McCormick?" the judge prompted.

Lyra took the pen. For a split second, her hand trembled. She caught Ryker watching her, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. Forcing her hand to steady, she signed Jane's name with the practiced flourish she'd perfected.

Parker countersigned as witness. Loren McCormick added his signature. The judge applied her official seal.

"By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the judge declared. "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood."

Lyra looked up at the screen. Ryker's expression hadn't changed, but something in his eyes had shifted—a subtle intensity that made her uncomfortable.

"I look forward to seeing you in person, Jane," he said. "When I return."

Before she could respond, the screen went dark.

It was done. She was legally Mrs. Ryker Blackwood—a title that belonged to someone else, a life she had no right to claim.

"The car will take you to the estate now," Parker said, handing her a thick envelope. "These are the keys, security codes, and household information. Mrs. Hargrave, the head housekeeper, expects you this afternoon."

Loren McCormick shook Parker's hand, then turned to Lyra. "Remember our arrangement," he said quietly. "Six months. Not a day less."

His eyes held a warning that chilled her. Whatever game Jane was playing with her father, Lyra was now trapped in the middle of it.

Outside the courthouse, the rain had stopped, but dark clouds still hung over the city. The same black town car waited, but a different driver stood beside it.

"Mrs. Blackwood," he said, opening the door for her.

The title hit her like a physical blow. What had she done?

As the car pulled away from the curb, Lyra stared at the platinum band now resting in her palm. She had expected to feel triumphant—she had just legally secured the financial freedom she'd always wanted.

Instead, she felt hollow. Empty. The enormity of her deception pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jane: ‘Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwood. The performance of a lifetime has just begun.’

Lyra looked out the window as Manhattan's skyline gave way to the tree-lined highways leading to Long Island. To Ryker's estate. To her new prison of luxury and lies.

The marriage certificate in her handbag felt like it was burning a hole through the expensive leather. On paper, she was Jane Blackwood now.

But as the car sped toward her new life, Lyra Winson had never felt more lost.