Chapter 4: Marry Me

Lyra’s perfume clung to the apartment like syrup, too sweet and heavy. Elara kept her expression pleasant, letting her smile widen just enough to hide the flicker of rage twisting beneath her ribs.

“So,” she said lightly, settling on the edge of the armchair. “Vance says you’re engaged?”

Lyra flicked a quick, annoyed glance at Vance before she smoothed it over with a practiced laugh. “Mm. It’s complicated. Our families go way back. They arranged it before I could even walk.”

“Sounds old-fashioned,” she murmured aloud, tilting her head. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Julian Beaumont.” Lyra’s eyes glimmered with pride as those names rolled out of her mouth too easily like she hadn't just witnessed her and her fiancé ravaging each other in bed.

Julian Beaumont. The name landed sharp in Elara’s mind. The name sounded too familiar and then something ticked in her mind, “As in Nicholas Beaumont’s family?”

Lyra smirked, pleased with herself. “The second son, yes. Elusive. The public hardly knows anything about him.”

Vance shifted beside them, his laugh too loud. “Lyra’s wedding will be the event of the decade if it ever happens. Right, babe?”

Elara slid her phone into her bag, forcing her lips into another polite smile. “I can imagine. I’ve heard the Beaumont name carries weight.”

Lyra leaned in. “Weight and money. But he’s not exactly the marriage type. We’ll see how it goes.”

Elara almost laughed at Lyra’s stupidity. Engaged to the son of a powerful family yet ready to throw it away for Vance. Love. She couldn’t blame her; she had been that blind once too.

That was enough. Elara rose, smoothing her dress, “Well, it was lovely to finally meet you.” She turned to Vance, eyes soft but distant. “I just remembered I have an early meeting. We’ll catch up later.”

“So soon?” Vance asked, confusion flickering across his face.

“Yes.” Elara’s smile sharpened as she looked at Lyra. “Congratulations in advance. It was lovely meeting you, Lyra.” she smiled and left before either of them could answer.

Outside, she drew a long breath of cool air to steady her pulse

“Julian Beaumont,” she murmured and smiled, “You're even a nicer catch than I thought,” she muttered before walking away as she texted a number.

____

The taxi stopped before a cozy single-story house with terracotta-red roof tiles, wide wooden windows, and a matching front door. Bright bougainvillea vines climbed the porch pillars, framing a small outdoor seating area. A neat green lawn with colorful flowerbeds surrounded the home, and a straight stone path led to the entrance.

Her eyes brightened with a flutter of excitement as she entered—home. She remembered the day she bought this place with her two years of savings. Unfortunately, she ended up selling it when she got married to Vance.

Every wall was filled with memories, memories of when she truly felt happy in her life... When she was just a college graduate, trying to figure out her life.

A tired groan escaped her lips as she fell onto the bed. Her eyes wandered over the walls lined with sketches of her designs, and for the first time in years she felt a part of herself returning. Fashion design. Her passion. She had sacrificed it all for a man who wasn’t worth it.

“Julian Beaumont.” The name rang again in her mind like a bell.

Sitting up, she picked up her phone and searched his name. As expected, only a few secret fan-snapped photos appeared. If he was truly Nicholas Beaumont’s son, why had she never heard of him before?

More importantly, if he was truly Lyra's fiancé, why had she never heard of anything concerning them in her past. In her past life, Lyra became a very popular actress so it was very difficult –near impossible for such news to escape the media.

Her phone vibrated, interrupting her chain of thought. A smirk crept up her lips—Julian Beaumont’s location.

“Perfect,” she muttered and left the bed to prepare for the night.

_____

Night…

The moment Elara stepped into the hotel, gazes turned to her. Her outfit clung like it had been made for her alone: black lace bodice tracing her curves with a daring neckline, black skirt cinched at the waist, ruched folds cascading to emphasize her hips and legs. Gold YSL earrings caught the light while layered necklaces framed her neck. A black Prada bag in her hand, strappy black stilettos wrapping her ankles with satin bows — elegant yet sensual.

She placed a hand on her chest as she looked at the reception. Her plan had looked perfect in her head, but standing here she felt the nerves creeping in.

No. She’d started this and she would finish it.

With her chin high, she walked up to the reception, each step exuding boldness.

“Good evening, Miss. Welcome to SLS Hotel. How may I help you?” the receptionist greeted with a polite smile.

“I’m here to meet Julian Beaumont. Room 520. It’s about a lady named Lyra Flynn.” Elara murmured.

“One moment.” The woman made a call. “Mr. Beaumont? Good evening, someone wishes to see you… she says it’s about Lyra Flynn.” A pause, then she hung up and smiled at Elara. “The man in the black suit will take you to his room.”

Elara nodded and followed. In the elevator, she steadied her breathing. The doors opened to the top floor.

“Here’s his room, Ma’am,” the man said as they stopped before a door guarded by two men.

One guard opened it, gesturing her inside. Determination flashed in her eyes as she stepped through.

The room was dimly lit, sleek and masculine, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city. A low modern bed with charcoal sheets sat at the center, flanked by warm wooden nightstands and softly glowing lamps. Her heels clicked on marble as she crossed the space.

A door opened. He stepped out. Her breath hitched.

Pictures hadn’t done him justice — short black hair, olive eyes, defined cheekbones. His shirt hung half-buttoned over a sculpted chest.

“You…” His eyes flickered in surprise for a moment, then softened into a smile.

Her thoughts raced. What did he mean? Had they met?

“I wasn’t expecting my surprise visitor to be you,” he said, walking to a table.

“Have we met before?” she asked.

He simply poured two glasses of scotch and slid one toward her. “Humor me.”

Elara took the glass, forcing herself not to cough as the liquor burned her throat. She couldn’t appear weak — not in front of this man who had an imposing yet mysterious presence.

Julian sat back on the lounge, gaze never leaving her. “I was intrigued when I heard you wanted to speak with me about my fiancée. Very few people even know about her.”

“You see,” Elara said, her smile cool, “I wouldn’t be here but alas… your fiancée doesn’t know when not to cross another woman’s territory.” She placed the photos on the table.

Julian scanned them, then set them down like cards. His mouth curved, amused.

“You do know,” she said softly, caught off guard.

“I know,” he replied. “She’s my fiancée. Of course I know. Marriage is a means to an end. As long as it doesn’t inconvenience me, I don’t care.”

Elara folded her fists on her thighs. Of course he'd know. How naïve of her to think pictures would be enough.

That left her with only one move.

She met his gaze, pulse steady. “Then marry me.”