Chapter 5

By the time the play ended, Wesley and Irene were gone.

A dull ache spread through Lyra's chest. She took a cab home, her face blank.

Once inside, she started packing. Her phone buzzed.

It was a message from Victor.

[The withdrawal paperwork is done. It takes effect in three days. I'll send someone to pick you up then.]

She replied with a simple [Okay] and kept folding clothes into the suitcase.

Wesley didn't come back that night.

He only sent one text:

[Something came up. Go to bed early.]

***

The next morning, Lyra had just finished getting ready.

The bedroom door slammed open. Wesley rushed in, eyes bloodshot, and grabbed her wrist. "Come with me!"

"What are you doing?" She stumbled as he dragged her along.

He didn't answer. He shoved her into the car.

The car tore down the road, blowing through several red lights.

Lyra recognized the route. Irene's school.

A crowd was packed around the gate.

Irene sat on the ground, clothes smeared with dirt, tears streaking her face.

The moment she saw them, she crawled straight toward Lyra. "Lyra, I really didn't seduce Wesley. Please, let me go."

"Lyra, what do you have to say?" Wesley snapped, anger thick in his voice.

"I didn't do anything." Lyra shook his hand off.

Wesley sneered and yanked a bespectacled boy forward. "You tell her. Who told you to do it?"

The boy glanced at Lyra, shrinking back. "I-It was this lady. She paid us to splash ink on Ms. Shmuck."

"You're lying!" Lyra trembled with rage. "I don't even know you!"

"Enough!" Wesley barked. "Apologize to Irene."

Lyra shook her head. "Why would I apologize for something I didn't do?"

Wesley's face hardened. He dragged her onto the school field, the sun beating down.

Irene staggered after them, skirt dusty, knees already blooming purple.

She sobbed, "Wesley, this is all my fault."

Her legs buckled. Wesley caught her.

His gaze snapped to the bruises on her knees. His jaw clenched. "Lyra, do you even know she's pregnant? You'll get the same treatment."

"You wouldn't dare!" Lyra shouted. "My father won't let this slide!"

"What a spoiled heiress!" Wesley blew up, fist bunching in her collar. "You think having your family behind you means you can do whatever you want?"

He spun and barked at the bodyguards. "Hold her down!"

Two of them immediately clamped onto Lyra's shoulders.

She fought hard. "Wesley! There are cameras everywhere!"

He gave a cold laugh. "They're already off."

He leaned close to her ear. "You hurt Irene. Don't blame me for what happens next."

Irene rushed in, playing her part. "Wesley, don't."

"Stay out of it." He eased her aside, then snapped, "Press her down!"

The bodyguards forced Lyra to the ground. Pain burst behind her eyes.

She bit down to keep from screaming. Blood slid from the corner of her mouth.

"That makes us even," Wesley told the bodyguards. "One hour. Watch her. Irene's weak. I'll help her back to the car. Do yourselves a favor."

Pinned to the ground, a sharp, violent pain tore through Lyra's lower abdomen. Cold sweat soaked her back.

"Wesley," she called weakly. "My stomach hurts."

He glanced back. Hesitation flickered.

Irene sagged into his arms. "Pregnancy makes people fragile. Lyra's not like me."

Wesley's face hardened. "After everything she's done to you, you're still standing up for her? I'm getting justice for you today."

He turned and got into the car.

Through the window, Lyra saw him rest a hand gently over Irene's stomach.

Her vision blurred.

Then everything went black.