All Chapters of Remember me naked: Chapter 151 - Chapter 159

LYRAThe house finally sleeps. The silence is thick, almost sacred, after the tumult of dinner. I enter my room, my steps muffled on the carpet. The air still carries a scent of flowers, wine, and warm wax, as if the evening refuses to completely fade away.When I lift my head, I see him.Alexandre is there, leaning casually against the doorframe. His arms crossed, his smirk half-formed, but above all, that gaze… that gaze that burns brighter than all the candles at dinner.— Do you know how much I suffered tonight? he breathes, his deep, vibrating voice.I freeze, feigning surprise.— Suffered? That seems… excessive. You were radiant, surrounded by your parents, perfectly at ease.He detaches himself from the doorframe, approaching with a calculated slowness, almost feline.— I suffered… seeing you there, so close, so beautiful, so full of laughter… and not being allowed to lay my hands on you.A shiver runs through me. So, to avoid giving in too quickly, I sit on the edge of the bed

ADRIEN, Alexandre's fatherThe car slowly drives down the cypress-lined driveway. The gravel crunches under the tires, a familiar sound that resonates strangely within me. My hands tighten on the leather steering wheel, even though I have nothing left to drive. A strange feeling washes over me: as if I were returning to a place where the past had never stopped waiting for me.Next to me, Éléonore maintains her impeccable dignity. She sits upright, elegant, almost frozen. Her fingers are crossed with a precision too perfect, as if she were holding on to them to avoid trembling. I know her. I sense her unease. She says nothing, she never says anything, but her silences have always spoken louder than her words.Then the door slams, and I finally lift my eyes.And she is there: Clara.Clara, Lyra's mother.My breath stops, my chest tightens, and suddenly the years fade away. She hasn't changed. Yes, her features bear the marks of time, a few delicate wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, bu

LYRAI am still curled up under the sheets when I see him getting dressed. Alexandre adjusts his shirt in front of the mirror, looking focused, precise in each of his movements. The morning light glides over his face, accentuating his determined features.I watch him in silence, with a tender smile. This man who has been my lover, my friend, my secret, is now my fiancé, the father of my child… and also this solid rock who rises every morning to face the world.— Are you leaving already? I say in a still sleepy voice.He instantly turns around, and his gaze becomes tender.— My heart, go back to sleep. You need rest.I sit up on the pillow, crossing my arms over my round belly.— Rest? I’ve been taking it for four months! I’m tired… of doing nothing.He laughs softly, approaching the bed to place a kiss on my forehead.— It’s the doctor’s recommendation. You know that.— The doctor said “avoid exertion,” not “live like a porcelain doll,” I retort, frowning.I see his lips press togethe

LYRAThe silence of the house is peaceful, but my heart is anything but. They say that morning brings calm, restores order, and offers a breath of fresh air to those who know how to listen to the world, but for me, none of this applies, because here, in this too-large house, where each room seems to hold the echoes of ancient stories and the forgotten whispers of our past lives, every minute, every breath amplifies my thoughts and sends them swirling like leaves carried away by an invisible wind, leaving me both fascinated and trembling before the inevitable confrontation that awaits me.Four months. Four months have passed since that phone call, furtive and almost surreal, when I dared to break the silence, to reopen a door that two decades of forgetfulness had locked tight, crossing that invisible threshold to reach a man I had fled as much as I had sought, Yann, that ally of shadows, discreet genius, capable of deciphering secrets that no one else would have even imagined, and who