All Chapters of Remember me naked: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

LYRAI didn’t think I could still surprise him.And yet, when I stand up to deliver my presentation, I feel an almost imperceptible shiver sweep through the room. A held breath. As if someone, somewhere, was holding their breath.I don’t need to turn my head. I know he’s watching me.Alexandre is looking at me with something rarer, more raw.As if he is discovering me.I unfold my data, my figures, my forecasts. My voice is steady. My gaze does not waver. Inside, however, everything vibrates. No fear. No doubt. But a fierce anticipation: that he listens to me. That he sees me. Completely.And he gazes at me, fascinated.He is there, frozen, eyebrows furrowed, two fingers resting on his lips. He analyzes me, scrutinizes me. Like a man caught off guard.By what I am becoming before his eyes.I continue, I move on to restructuring, the poles, the synergies. I speak clearly, without seeking effect. I am selling nothing. I show what is, what can be. We look at each other, as if we are alon

LYRAI stand in front of the mirror, motionless for a moment. My breathing is calm, almost measured, but my mind is swirling like a swarm of bees in turmoil. Tonight's dinner is not just a simple business meeting; it is a piece on a chessboard where every move can destabilize fragile alliances.I choose my outfit carefully. A black dress, sleek, that hugs my curves without shouting, a slightly open neckline that hints, but never fully reveals. Nothing extravagant, just enough to command a presence. A light perfume, subtle and cool, that will serve as an invisible signature, discreet yet unforgettable. I run my fingers through my hair, smoothing it gently, gathering it into a low bun. Too much sophistication would betray tension; too much negligence, weakness.Before me, on the vanity, sits a small bottle of deep red lipstick. I touch it lightly, hesitate for a moment, then apply a fine, precise line, almost imperceptible. A mark, a trace. For him.I can’t help but think of him, of Ale

LYRAI know nothing of the accident.Did he have an accident? How? When? Why did no one tell me anything?But already, I understand that I will not get an answer. Nothing.Lucas utters this phrase in a chilling tone, as if throwing a sharp truth on the table. A brutal glint, thrown in the middle of this too-silent dinner.The air around me changes. The room seems to shrink all at once.My fingers tighten on my napkin.My thoughts whirl.I stare at Alexandre.But he does not look at me.He lowers his gaze, as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. His jaw tightens, his profile freezes in tension. A shadow crosses his face, and something whispers to me that this is not just an accident.— What accident?I ask, my voice choked, barely a whisper.A silence stretches. Dense. Suffocating.Suddenly, Cassandre's voice slices through the air like a cleaver.— Alexandre is doing very well. He is recovering quickly. That's all you need to know.She speaks quickly, too quickly, a

CASSANDRAThe night has fallen, heavy and tense, like my mood.Alexandre stands by the window, arms crossed, his gaze fixed outside. He doesn’t speak. He hardly moves. He barely breathes.I’ve been staring at him for a good ten minutes. And I know exactly what he’s thinking.Not about me. About her.Always Lyra. That girl is poisoning his mind. She has disappeared, she has betrayed, and yet she still lives here, between us. In his silences, his sighs, his absences.And I refuse to lose.I approach gently. I place a hand on his arm. He doesn’t react.— Alex…He finally turns his head. His gaze is hard. Cold. Tired.— What do you want, Cassandra?— You. I whisper. Just you.Let me help you forget all this. Just tonight.My hands glide over his chest, sliding under his t-shirt. But he gently, firmly pushes me away.— You’re pregnant. I can’t, not like this.I smile, slow, deliberate.— So what? It’s not a disease. I’m still here. Whole. You’ve already slept with me, Alex. You can do it a

LYRAWhen I open my eyes, the day is already bright. My heart is still beating a bit too fast. I stay there for a few moments, staring at the ceiling as if to rid myself of this dream, this guilty warmth that still clings to my skin.I get up, put on a sweater, and tiptoe downstairs. Lucas is already in the kitchen, as always, a cup of coffee in hand and the radio playing softly in the background.— You're up early, he says without looking up.— I didn't sleep well, I reply as I sit at the table. Strange dreams.He gives me a sidelong glance, a smirk on his lips.— The nightmare kind? Or the… hot kind?— Lucas! I protest, feigning indignation, tossing him a piece of bread.He laughs, then places a steaming cup of coffee in front of me.— Don't worry, I'm just teasing you. But if you need to talk about it…I shrug. He can't understand. Not this kind of dream. Not this feeling of having been touched for real. And by him.— No, it's fine. I just need to focus on something else. Work, for