CHAPTER 4

Lyra’s POV

Three days of walking the streets. Three days of "we'll call you" that never came. Three days of doors closing in my face.

I sat on a bench in the park, my last five dollars in my pocket, and stared at the job listings on my cracked phone screen. Every application asked the same questions I couldn't answer. Previous employer? None I could list. References? Who would vouch for a stripper?

You're going to end up on the streets, a voice whispered in my head. Just like she always said you would.

I pushed up from the bench, my body aching from sleeping on subway seats. One more try. Just one more.

The building in front of me was all glass and steel, reaching toward the sky like it owned it. Sterling Industries. I smoothed down my wrinkled blouse—the only nice thing I owned—and walked through the revolving doors.

The lobby was cold and perfect. Everything gleamed. Everyone looked expensive.

"Can I help you?" The receptionist's smile was plastic.

"I have an interview. Lyra Chen. For the assistant position."

She typed something, eyes flicking over me with barely hidden judgment. "Tenth floor. They're expecting you."

The elevator ride felt like going to my execution. My reflection in the mirrored walls showed exactly what I was—desperate, broke, and out of place.

The tenth floor was even colder than the lobby. A woman with sharp eyes and sharper suit led me through hallways that smelled like money and power.

"Mr. Sterling will see you now."

My stomach dropped. "Mr. Sterling? I thought this was for an assistant position."

"He interviews all potential hires personally." She opened a massive door. "Go in."

The office was huge, with windows overlooking the entire city. And behind the desk sat a man who made my breath catch—not because he was handsome, though he was, but because of the way he looked at me. Like I was dirt on his expensive shoe.

"Miss Chen." His voice was ice. "Sit."

I sat, my hands shaking slightly. He was older than Jeremy and Raphael, maybe mid-thirties, with silver-gray eyes that saw everything. Power rolled off him in waves that made something inside me want to submit, to bow my head.

No. Not again.

"Your resume is..." he paused, tapping the paper with one finger, "interesting. No prior work experience listed. No references. A three-month gap with no explanation." His eyes lifted to mine. "Tell me, Miss Chen, what exactly have you been doing with your time?"

The way he said it—like he already knew, like he could smell the club on me even though I'd scrubbed my skin raw in a gas station bathroom.

"I was working," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I just... I can't list that employer."

"I see." He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "And why is that?"

"Because people like you would judge me for it." The words came out harder than I meant them to.

His eyebrow raised. "People like me?"

"Rich. Powerful. People who've never had to choose between eating and keeping a roof over their head." My anger was building, hot and reckless. "People who look at someone like me and decide we're worthless before we even open our mouths."

The air in the room changed. His eyes went cold, really cold.

"You're right, Miss Chen." He stood, buttoning his suit jacket with precise movements. "I have decided. This interview is over. You're not suitable for this position or any position in my company."

Something inside me snapped. All the rejection, all the pain, all the shame—it erupted.

"You don't even know me!" I shot to my feet. "You took one look at me and decided I wasn't good enough. You didn't ask about my skills or what I could do. You just saw someone you could look down on and feel superior to!"

"Get out." His voice was deadly quiet.

"I'm going!" I grabbed my bag, hands shaking with rage. "But you know what? You're exactly like every other man who thinks he owns the world. You think money and power make you better than everyone else. Well, it doesn't. It just makes you cruel."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I stormed out, past the shocked assistant, past the perfect people in the perfect hallway, and didn't stop until I was back on the street.

What did you just do?

I'd burned my last bridge. My last chance.

I walked for hours, my phone dying in my pocket, my feet blistering in my cheap heels. The sun was setting when my phone buzzed with its last bit of battery.

Mom calling.

I almost didn't answer. But something made me press the button.

"Lyra! Oh, baby, I have the most wonderful news!" Her voice was high, fake-sweet in a way that made my skin crawl. "I'm married!"

I stopped walking. "What?"

"I know, I know, it's so sudden! But when you meet your soulmate, you just know. He's amazing, Lyra. Rich, powerful, an Alpha of a major pack. And he wants to meet you! You have to come right now."

"Mom, I can't just—"

"Please, baby. We're a family now. A real family. His house is huge, you'll have your own room, everything you need. Just come meet him. For me?"

There was something off in her voice. Something desperate hiding under the cheer. But what choice did I have? Sleep on the streets or swallow my pride?

"Fine. Text me the address."

"Oh, thank you! You won't regret this, I promise!"

She hung up before I could change my mind.

You're going to regret this, my instincts screamed. Whatever she's gotten into, it's going to be bad.

But I had nowhere else to go.

The address led me to a neighborhood where houses became estates, where walls and gates kept people like me out. The cab driver looked at me like I'd given him the wrong address, but he dropped me at the entrance anyway.

The gate was wrought iron, expensive, intimidating. I pressed the buzzer.

"Yes?" A male voice, bored.

"Lyra Chen. Iris's daughter."

A long pause. Then the gate clicked open.

The driveway curved through perfect gardens. The house—no, mansion—rose up like something from a movie. Three stories of stone and glass, with columns and balconies and windows that probably cost more than I'd make in a lifetime.

What have you done, Mom?

The front door opened before I could knock. Iris stood there in a dress that probably cost thousands, her makeup perfect, her smile bright and empty.

"Baby!" She pulled me into a hug that felt as fake as her voice sounded. "I'm so glad you came!"

Her eyes told a different story. They were guilty, scared, pleading.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"Nothing! Everything's perfect. Come in, come in. Marcus is dying to meet you."

She pulled me inside. The entry hall was bigger than any apartment I'd ever lived in. Marble floors, crystal chandelier, a staircase that curved up like something from a fairytale.

And standing at the base of those stairs was a man who made my breath stop.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver streaking through dark hair. But it was his eyes that froze me—golden, knowing, looking at me like he recognized something in me that I didn't even recognize in myself.

"Lyra." His voice was deep, commanding. "I'm Marcus Blackwood. Welcome to your new home."

The way he said it—like he'd been expecting me, like this was somehow meant to be—sent chills down my spine.

"Thank you, sir." My voice came out small.

"Please, call me Marcus. After all, we're family now." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Iris has told me so much about you."

Lies, I thought. She doesn't know anything about me.

A door slammed somewhere in the house. Heavy footsteps pounded toward us.

Two men burst into the hallway, and my heart stuttered.

They were both tall, built like fighters, radiating the same raw power that Jeremy and Raphael had. Brothers, obviously. The first had dark hair and eyes like a storm. The second was lighter, but with the same sharp, dangerous edge.

They saw me and their faces twisted with instant hatred.

"Father." The dark one's voice was pure venom. "What is she doing here?"

"Caspian, Orion, this is Lyra. Iris's daughter." Marcus's voice held a warning. "She'll be staying with us."

"Like hell she will." The lighter one—Orion—moved forward, aggression in every line of his body. "Bad enough you married that gold-digging whore. Now you're bringing her spawn into our home?"

"Orion!" Marcus's voice cracked like a whip.

But they weren't listening. They stormed past us into a side room, their voices carrying back clear and cruel.

"She married him for his money. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it."

"Mom's only been gone six months and he replaces her with that?"

"We won't let them destroy everything. The pack, the family, everything Mom built."

"They're both probably after his money. We need to protect him, protect what's ours."

Their hatred was a living thing, filling the air with poison.

I stood frozen, my bag still in my hand, realizing with horrible clarity what I'd walked into.

Iris had married into a powerful pack. Had made me instant enemies with men who looked like they could snap me in half without trying. Men who'd just lost their mother and saw us as the enemy.

Marcus's hand landed on my shoulder. "Don't mind them. They're grieving."

But his touch felt wrong. Too knowing. Too familiar.

I looked at Iris. Her smile was cracking at the edges, her guilt written in every false note of cheer.

What have you gotten us into this time?

And somewhere in the house, the brothers were still talking, still planning, their rage a promise of the hell that was coming.

I wanted to run. Wanted to grab my bag and sprint back through that perfect gate.

But I had nowhere to go. No money. No options.

I was trapped. Again.