Chapter 7 — Behind the Smiles

Lyra

Two months have passed since my return to this house.

And for the first time in years, I truly feel like I can breathe.

Every morning, as I open my eyes, I am no longer overwhelmed by that dull anxiety that twists my stomach. The golden ceiling of my room is tinted with a soft light filtering through the cream-colored curtains. The scent of fresh flowers, arranged in tall crystal vases, fills the space with a soothing sweetness.

I now know every corner of this house. The discreet creak of the fifth step, the slight draft under the library door, the distant voices when my father talks on the phone in his office. Little by little, I am relearning to walk in these places without fear, to feel at home again.

But more than the walls, it is the looks that change everything.

They haven’t rushed me. Haven’t forced me. They have waited for me.

With disarming patience, a tenderness that gradually breaks down the walls I have built around myself. The silence breaks. I laugh at the table. I share meals without questioning whether I deserve my place. One afternoon, Lucas suggests we return to the garden shed. We don’t talk, but when I see him turn his head to discreetly wipe his eyes, I understand that this place holds as many memories for him as it does for me.

That day, I know. I am truly back.

And then, one evening, as the sky turns pink and dinner comes to an end on the terrace, my father gently places his hand on mine.

— Lyra, we would like to propose something to you.

I look up, surprised. The murmur of the fountains, further away in the garden, fills the silence. My mother sets down her napkin, her eyes shining.

— You have found your place here. But it is time now for you to discover the other side of our life. The one we have built together… our business.

She has that fragile smile, as if she has been holding her breath for weeks, hoping for this moment.

— We would like you to work there, she continues. As your brother’s assistant. Lucas can introduce you to everything. It would be a nice way for you to reconnect… and to integrate gently.

I don’t respond right away. I turn my head towards Lucas. He only gives me a nod. No smile. No words. But his eyes speak for him: I am ready.

I take a slow breath.

— Alright. I will try. To be Lucas’s assistant. But I have one condition.

The gazes freeze. Attentive.

— I want to work under my current name. I don’t want to reveal who I really am.

A thick silence falls. My father slightly furrows his brow. My mother looks pained, almost hurt.

— Why, dear? she murmurs, her voice trembling with concern.

I sit up straight, my hands clasped on my knees.

— You told me that I had been kidnapped by my nurse. When I was three. Then… she died, without leaving any explanation. No letter. No motive. It’s as if she vanished after stealing me. And the more I think about it, the more I believe it wasn’t just a random act.

I pause. The breeze brushes my neck, and I take the moment to calm my breath.

— Someone was targeting you. Someone wanted to hurt you by kidnapping me. And that someone could very well still be here. Silent. Lurking in the shadows. Maybe even… within your company.

The glass my mother holds vibrates slightly between her fingers before she puts it down.

My father slowly nods, his gaze darkened.

— You are right. As long as the truth is not revealed… we will remain prisoners of this past.

Lucas, who has been silent until now, places his cup on the table. The dry clink resonates like a decision.

— We will start tomorrow.

I meet his gaze, determined.

— I am not an expert in business, but I promise you one thing: I will remove the thorn that has been embedded in our flesh for twenty years.

The next day, I wear a simple, elegant black suit, carefully chosen by my mother. She helps me adjust the collar with a mix of pride and contained emotion, as if she is dressing me for my first day back at school.

Lucas waits for me in front of the car, arms crossed, still as impassive as ever. A brief nod.

— Ready?

— Ready.

The drive to the headquarters is filled with a strange silence, not heavy, but suspended. Through the window, the towers rise, still and powerful. The family building stands in the center of the business district: a sleek glass tower, shiny, almost intimidating. Every line, every reflection on the façade seems to scream controlled power.

As soon as we enter, the gazes turn. Whispers follow our steps like a trail of gunpowder.

— The president finally has an assistant? He who has always worked alone…

— And she’s gorgeous, too. Did you see her legs? She must have used her charms; it’s impossible otherwise.

I don’t react. Too many years of enduring. Too many scars for these arrows to reach me again.

But Lucas stops short. He pivots toward the two employees who started the murmurs. They instantly pale.

— She is here to work. And she is under my direct responsibility. Any inappropriate comment about her is a comment about me. Do you understand?

They nod, silent. The ice in his voice has frozen them in place.

Once in his spacious, minimalist office, flooded with light, he indicates my workspace. A discreet desk, set back, with a sweeping view of the city.

Then he sits down and locks his eyes onto mine.

— What we are about to undertake… is no game.

— I know, I simply respond.

He hands me a thick file.

— Here is the list of employees who have been here for over twenty years. Those who knew. Who could have followed our movements. Knew the habits of the house. And had access to you when you were a child.

I take the file, my heart beating faster. Every name on this list is a question without an answer. A possible threat.

— We will have to play the game. Greet, smile… while we search for who among them wanted to erase a child.

I stand up slowly.

— I am ready.

In his eyes, I see my own reflection. A cold determination. A quiet anger. The past will speak. And this time, I am ready to listen.

But at that moment, at the entrance of the building, the automatic doors open with a discreet sigh.

A couple enters.

Elegant. Perfect. Familiar with the place.

Their gait is assured, their smiles polite. But beneath this overly smooth facade… something is off.

They approach the reception.

— Tell Lucas we have arrived. He knows us well.

Their voices are soft. Too soft.

And behind their smiles… I sense a crack.

A lie. A memory.

Perhaps even… a secret.