CHAPTER TWO

LYRA POV

I opened my eyes slowly as my consciousness began to return. The lights once again felt a little too bright. I really wish they would change these. I looked around a bit and noticed the ropes from the machines attached to me. I tried to raise my head a bit, but the pain in my body stopped me quickly. I groaned and lay down.

“She is awake.”

The voice came from my left. I turned my head with effort. A nurse stood beside the bed, her hair in a pulled-back ponytail, and she was quite calm for someone who was in surgery.

“Easy there,” she said. “Try not to move too much.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“You are out of surgery.”

Surgery.

I closed my eyes briefly, and the images flooded back: glass walls, bright lights, Selene standing on her feet, smiling and kissing my husband.

I opened my eyes again. “I saw her.”

The nurse paused.

“Saw who?” she asked.

“My husband’s sister,” I said. “I saw her standing— She was fine. Perfectly okay, even.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but quickly refrained and went silent. “You were under stress,” she said. “Hallucinations happen.”

“That was not a hallucination,” I replied.

She adjusted the drip beside me. “Try to get some rest. Okay.”

“I want my husband.”

“He stepped out.”

“He stepped out when and to where?” I asked.

She did not respond. “How long have I been here?”

“Several hours.”

“And he has not come back.”

“He will,” she said, but her tone wasn't convincing me.

I swallowed. “Where is she? His sister.”

“She is in recovery.”

“I saw her kissing my husband and laughing,” I said quietly. “Does that sound like recovery?”

The nurse straightened. “I am not allowed to discuss other patients.”

“So I am just a patient now,” I said.

She looked at me again, and I saw pity in her eyes. But why. What the hell is going on?

“I will get someone,” she said.

Then she left.

The room went quiet again. All that could be heard was the low beeping of the machines around me. I stared at the ceiling quietly, which was a total contrast to the havoc playing in my mind. I kept recalling the hallway over and over again. Darius’s arm around Selene. Her leaning in to kiss him. She wasn't dying, heck, she wasn't even sick. They used me.

I heard footsteps.

This time, it was his mother. Lucinda.

She walked in calmly. And for a woman whose daughter was meant to be dying, she looked a little too composed. Red bottom heels and perfectly styled hair. She smiled when she saw my eyes open.

“Lyra,” she said. “You scared us.”

“You don’t look scared,” I replied.

She ignored that and moved closer to me. “How are you feeling, darling?”

“In pain,” I said. “And confused.”

“That is normal after surgery.”

“I saw her,” I said again.

Her smile faltered for a second, but she quickly fixed her face and smiled again. “Saw who dear?”

“Selene,” I replied. “In the hallway. Standing beside Darius, oh no, let me correct myself. Kissing Darius.”

She exhaled softly. “You were drifting in and out of consciousness. How could you be sure of what you saw?”

“I was awake.”

“But, you were medicated.”

“I know what I saw.”

She placed her hand on the bed rail. “Lyra, please do not do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

“Create unreasonable stories.”

I laughed quietly, then stopped because it hurt. “So now I am imagining things.”

“You went through a lot,” she said. “And your mind is trying to protect you.”

“By lying to me?”

She leaned closer. “By helping you cope.”

I turned my face away. “So where is Darius, huh?”

“He is with his sister.”

“So she is awake.”

“Yes.”

“Is she healthy enough to sit and talk?”

“She is improving.”

“Enough to stand.” There was a pause.

“She insisted,” his mother said. “She wanted to see him.”

“But not me. Not the person who saved her life.”

“You needed surgery,” she replied. “She needed reassurance.”

I faced her again. “Reassurance from my husband.”

She did not answer.

“Did she need my kidney to stand?” I asked.

Her eyes hardened slightly. “That is enough.”

“No,” I said. “That is not enough. You all said she was dying, didn't you?”

“She was critical.”

“No—that’s a fucking lie. She was glowing,” I replied.

Her voice became lower. “You should be grateful she survived.”

“And I almost did not.”

“But you did,” she said. “And now you will recover.”

“How?” I asked. “Here. Alone. By myself.”

“You are not alone.”

“Then where is my husband?”

She straightened. “He will come when things settle down.”

“When,” I asked.

“Soon.”

That word again.

She reached into her bag and placed a folder on the table beside my bed.

“And what is that supposed to be?” I asked.

“Documents.”

“For what?”

“Hospital procedures.”

“I am not signing anything.”

“You will later.”

“I want my mother.”

“That is unnecessary right now.”

I scoffed. “Why, so my mother is unnecessary now?”

“She will worry about you, and you wouldn't want that, would you now, darling?”

“I am already worried,” I replied.

She sighed. “Lyra, you need to trust us.”

I stared at her. “Trust who?”

“Your family.”

“My family,” I repeated. “You mean the one that is lying to my face.”

She picked up the folder again. “Enough.”

She left without another word.

Minutes later, a different nurse came in. A younger one. She checked my vitals with careful movements.

“You look scared,” she said quietly.

“I am scared,” I replied and closed my eyes slightly.

“You did something brave,” she said.

“Did I,” I asked. “Or did I get tricked?”

She did not answer.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

She nodded.

“Was she really dying?”

Her hands paused.

“I cannot discuss that,” she said.

“Before the surgery,” I added.

She looked at the door, then back at me. “She needed a donor,” she said carefully.

“But that's not the answer to the question I asked.”

Silence.

“That is enough,” she said finally and left.

Later on, the room filled again. This time, his mother returned with another woman. She wore a fitted suit and held a tablet.

“This is our legal consultant,” his mother said. “She will explain a few things.”

My heart sank. “Explain what?”

“Post-surgical matters,” the woman said smoothly.

“I want my husband,” I said.

“He is busy,” his mother replied.

“With who?”

“With his sister.”

The consultant stepped closer. “Mrs. Venn, this is routine.”

“I am not signing anything.”

“You will not sign now,” she said. “Maybe later.”

“When I can think.”

“Yes.”

They stepped outside, but the door wasn’t closed fully, at least not enough to hear what they were saying.

“She is stable,” the consultant said.

“Once she can hold a pen, make her sign,” his mother replied.

“And after.”

There was a pause.

“After that,” she said calmly, “She is no longer our concern.”