Chapter 5: The Woman He Chose

Lyra POV 

I woke up feeling unfamiliar with where I was. My eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking against the soft glow of light filtering through tall glass windows. For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind blank, my body feeling heavy, like I had been dropped into someone else's life overnight. Then slowly it hit me. 

The hospital.

The contract.

Alexander.

My breath caught as I pushed myself up abruptly. My heart is racing. I look around. 

"This isn't my room." I muttered beneath my breath. The bed beneath me was too soft. Too big. Too expensive. Even the sheets felt foreign against my skin. I tried to remember how I got here, but it felt shady. The last thing I remembered was standing in that cold, intimidating living room... holding that file... realizing Alexander had been watching me long before I knew he existed. 

After that, nothing.

I frowned, feeling a bit frustrated at myself. Did I fall asleep? Did someone bring me here? I became unsure and confused. The thought made me feel an uneasy twist in my chest. I quickly got out of the bed. My bare foot is hitting the polished floor. The room was massive. It was elegant, everything placed with precision. Just like him

I walked around the room, observing the furniture and the expensive materials in the room. I walked toward the door and opened it carefully. 

The hallway was quiet, almost too quiet, as if the entire mansion held its breath.

Fortunately, I heard some faint voices until I reached the sitting room. And that's when I saw them. I moved closer to get to see what was happening. 

Alexander stood near a large glass wall, his back facing me, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Across from him was another man. He was slightly younger, with his eyeglasses on, holding a tablet. I observed closely, his expression tense as he spoke rapidly.

“…the interface is clean, modern, and user-friendly,” the man was saying. “We’ve integrated the visual layers to maximize engagement and...”

I frowned. Something about what he was saying didn't sit right. I stayed by the entrance for a moment, listening carefully.

“…and the animation flow will follow a linear progression, keeping the user focused without distractions—” he continued. 

No. That was wrong. Completely wrong.

I didn’t even realize I had stepped forward until both men turned to look at me.

The digital artist looked annoyed at the interruption.

Alexander, however…

He just watched me. He was calm, curious, and dangerously observant.

“Continue,” Alexander said to the man, his eyes still on me.

The man cleared his throat. “As I was saying—”

“It won’t work.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Silence fell instantly.

The artist turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

I hesitated for half a second.

Then I walked closer.

“No offense,” I said, my voice steady, “but your structure is flawed.” I said to him.

His face tightened. “And you are?”

“Someone who knows what she’s talking about,” I replied. But I didn’t care, not when I was right.

Alexander didn’t interrupt. He didn’t stop me. He simply watched.

That alone gave me the confidence to continue.

“You said you’re using a linear progression to guide user focus,” I said, stepping toward the tablet in the man’s hands. “But that limits interaction. Users don’t just want to follow—they want to explore.”

The man scoffed. “This is a professional design—”

“And it’s outdated,” I cut in.

His jaw tightened.

I turned to Alexander.

“If you want engagement, you need layered interactivity,” I explained. “Dynamic transitions. Adaptive visuals that respond to user behavior, not just a fixed path.”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not in anger but in interest. 

I continued.

“Your current model might look clean,” I added, “but it won’t hold attention. People will get bored. And when they get bored—they leave.”

There was silence for a while.

The artist shifted uncomfortably.

“That’s… not entirely accurate,” he muttered.

I tilted my head. “Then show me the retention metrics.”

He froze.

"Exactly," I thought to myself. 

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Alexander stepped forward.

“Explain,” he said.

Just one word. But it was directed at me. My heart skipped. Still… I didn’t back down.

I took the tablet gently from the artist’s hand and began pointing.

“You need to redesign this section,” I said. “Add layered visuals here. Make it responsive. And this—” I tapped another area, “—shouldn’t be static. It needs motion. Subtle, but enough to keep attention.”

I looked up at him.

“If you fix these elements, your product won’t just look good—it’ll work.” 

Silence followed once again.

Alexander studied me. Like he was trying to figure me out. I escaped his gaze. And that made me nervous.

"You are a digital artist," he said. It wasn't a question. 

I hesitated a bit. "I used to be," I admitted.

"Used to?" he asked.

"I didn't have the money or luxury to continue," I replied calmly.

Something flickered in his eyes, and then it was gone. Back to the man he is. He turned to the other man.

"Fix it," he said coldly. 

The artist stiffened. "But Sir..."

"Fix it," he cuts in. He repeated. No arguments. It was an order. No room for discussion. 

The man nodded quickly and left.

And just like that. It was left with the two of us only. The living room became silent once again. The air shifted. He stepped closer and stood right in front of me. And suddenly, I became very aware of how close we were.

"You didn't mention this," he said. 

"Mention what?" I asked. 

"Your skull."

I looked at him for a moment. They shrugged lightly.

"You didn't ask."

A faint smirk touched his lips. "Interesting." 

I crossed my arms. "That's it!"

He raised a brow. 

"No magic word. No thank you?" I added. 

His smirk deepened slightly. "I didn't hire you for your opinions," he said.

My jaw tightened.

"What! Then maybe you should start," I shot back.

Then for a moment, there was tension. Then suddenly.

"Hey, dressed," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"We are going out tonight."

"Where?" I asked.

"A party."

I frowned. "I haven't gone to check on my mother yet. It's almost a day. She needs me."

"That is cleared," he said.

I raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"She is perfectly alright. Everything is sorted out. The operation was successful; you don't have to worry," he said.

I froze. 

"How do you know all this?" I asked, waiting for some answers.

"Any more issues you have? No. Good. Enough questions now," he said.

"She is my mother. I still wanna see her." I dropped.

He went silent for a moment.

"Alright, after the party," he replied.

"What kind of party?"

His eyes held mine.

"A mask party," he told me.

My stomach twisted slightly. Nothing about his world could be simple.

And before I could ask anything else, he turned and walked away. Just like that, the conversation was over. Decision made as usual.

I barely had time to process anything before the next shock came. 

–––––––––

It was evening already. The mansion was no longer quiet. Voices filled the hall. Soft footsteps. I became confused.

“What’s going on?” I asked one of the staff.

“They’re here for you, ma’am,” she replied.

“For me? I asked. 

"Yes," she replied.

Before I could ask more. The door opened. Three women walked in. They looked elegant and confident. Carrying garments, bags, and makeup kits. Another carried a collection of jewelries and a Kelly bag. These people are from the Hermès collection. I thought to myself. All the materials are way too expensive; I couldn't afford any. 

One of them smiled. "Miss Lyra," she said warmly. 

"We're here to get you ready."

I blinked.

“Ready… for what?”

“The party, of course," one of them responded.

My stomach dropped.

“You mean—”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Mr. Kane requested the best.”

I stared at them. Stunned.

“You’re… fashion designers?” I asked.

“Top designers from Paris," she corrected with a smile.

Of course they were. Because nothing in Alexander’s world was ever ordinary.

Instantly they moved quickly. Before I knew it, I was seated, surrounded, transformed into something I barely recognized.

Fabric brushed against my skin. Selective top-notch fabrics were picked to fit my body tone.

Soft and Expensive.

“Perfect,” one of them murmured.

I looked at my reflection in a mirror. And for a moment I could barely recognize my own face. I didn't see myself. I saw someone else. I looked like a stake queen, embedded in beauty. Someone who belongs to his world. I never believed how gorgeous I could be. Priceless jewelry worn on me. Put expensive white royal arm gloves on me. My hair is braided and styled perfectly.

And that scared me more than anything.

“Mr. Kane will be waiting,” one of them said.

Of course he would be. I stood slowly. Took a breath. And stepped out. 

The dress was so long it rolled with the floor a few meters away. When I reached the main hall. He was already there. Dressed in a black suit. He looked untouchable.

His gaze lifted as I walked in. And for the first time, he paused. Our eyes met, but his gaze was different. The way he looked at me, it was enough for me to notice. Something shifted in his expression. His eyes held me for some time. I saw the way his eyes scanned me from my hair to down. Something I couldn't quite name. Then it was gone.

"Shall we?" he said. Offering his hand to me.

As we walked toward the car, my heart wouldn't stop racing. Not from excitement but from something deeper. That message, that warning, has not left my mind.

As the car drove into the night, I turned slightly to him.

"Alexander..." 

He didn't look at me.

"What?" 

I hesitated. Then asked quietly. "What kind of party is this really?" He looked at me. And his expression made my blood run cold. 

"It's not a party," he said. "It is where everything begins.”