All Chapters of The Stranger Hidden in My Sketchbook: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The engagement celebration had finally ended. For the first time all day, there were no cameras. No executives. No reporters. No endless congratulations. Only silence. And each other. The presidential suite occupied the highest floor of one of Bellevaux's most luxurious hotels. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, where thousands of lights glittered beneath the night sky. Lyra stood quietly near the glass, her makeup removed, her hair loosened from its elaborate styling. The elegant engagement gown had been replaced by a soft cream-colored silk nightdress and a warm robe. Everything felt surreal. This morning she had awakened as Lyra Aveline. Tonight she was officially Arsen Vale's fiancée. Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Arsen. His chin rested lightly against her shoulder. Neither spoke immediately. They simply watched the city together. The lights. The distant traffic. The stars barely visible above the skyline. Eventually, Arse

Wedding preparations quickly became one of the most discussed topics inside the Vale family. Officially, the wedding was still four months away. Unofficially, it felt as if an entire kingdom was preparing for it. Every week new fabric samples arrived. Jewelry collections were presented. Venue concepts were reviewed. Flower arrangements were debated. Guest lists expanded. Security plans doubled. And somehow, despite having one of the busiest schedules in Bellevaux, Arsen Vale became unexpectedly involved in every detail. Especially the dresses. ---------------------------- One afternoon, seven wedding gowns stood displayed inside a private showroom reserved exclusively for Lyra. Each dress had been designed by a different renowned designer. Most of them were Lyra's friends. Some were international names. Others were legendary figures who rarely accepted custom commissions. The room itself looked like a dream. Seven masterpieces. Seven interpretation

The hidden room was colder than the rest of the villa. Not physically. Emotionally. Every step Lyra took down the staircase felt heavier than the last. The lights had activated automatically as she descended, illuminating the narrow stairwell in soft golden tones. Yet somehow the warmth never reached her chest. Her heartbeat thundered. Too loud. Too fast. The baby. Her hand instinctively rested against her stomach. "Calm down," she whispered to herself. But she couldn't. Something deep inside told her this place contained a truth. A truth Arsen had never intended for anyone to see. Especially her. The staircase finally ended. A single door stood before her. Dark wood. No handle on the outside. Only a keypad and a lock mechanism. The door was already unlocked. Waiting. Lyra swallowed. Her palm felt damp. "What is this place...?" The silence answered. Slowly, she pushed. Click. The door opened. And Lyra froze. Her breath stopped. Her heart forgot how to be

The sound of her laughter echoed against the high ceilings of the secret room, bouncing off the walls lined with thousands of photographs, sketches, and memories preserved like sacred relics. Arsen remained frozen on one knee beside her chair, his chest heaving, his red-rimmed eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated shock. He looked completely stripped of his corporate armor—defenseless, vulnerable, and utterly lost. Lyra wiped a tear of laughter from her cheek, her chest rising and falling as her giggles slowly subsided into a breathless, intoxicating smile. "Lyra..." Arsen whispered again, his voice trembling, terrified to hope. "What... why are you laughing?" Lyra leaned forward, her gaze locking onto his. The fear that had gripped her for weeks—the paralyzing dread of her own secret obsession being exposed, the terror that he would find her disgusting if he knew how deeply she had craved him first—vanished into thin air. "You called yourself a monster, Carl," Lyra murmured, her v

The silence that followed was heavy, yet remarkably tender, filled only with the soft, steady rhythm of their breathing and the quiet hum of the high-rise far below. The room, once overflowing with the terrifying, obsessive weight of hidden truths, now felt like a sanctuary. A fortress built by two lonely souls who had unknowingly been searching for each other through the dark. Arsen kept her locked safely in his arms, his large hand gently splaying across the small of her back, pressing her warmth against his chest as if he could absorb every ounce of pain she had ever endured. Lyra let out a long, shaky sigh, the last remnants of her tears drying against the fabric of his shirt. For years, she had carried the grief of losing her parents, the agonizing pressure of medical bills, and the crushing loneliness of watching her grandmother slip away. She had buried those scars deep beneath her passion for design and her quiet, secret adoration of the boy from Saint Aurelia. Now, sitt