Riddles Mirror Mga Nobela at Kwento

"You let another man touch what belongs to me?" Lucian’s hand, a possessive vice, encircled her throat. "How dare you? You're mine. The next man who lays a finger on you will beg for death." Lyra’s bitter laugh filled the silence. "Since when do you care? Wasn't I your 'land whale'? Your 'disgusting she-hippopotamus'?" CRACK. His fist splintered the plaster beside her head. "I. FUCKING. CARED. You were always MINE." "I counted every breath you took in his arms," Lucian whispered, his lips grazing the scar he’d given her. "Now he'll count his as I carve them out." Lyra stood unyielding. "You discarded me like trash. He picked up the pieces." The mirror shattered as he hurled her against it. "I WAS SAVING YOU." From what? The forced marriage? The night she miscarried, utterly alone? Lucian’s "care" came too late. Lyra never wanted this marriage—a gilded cage to a billionaire who systematically broke her. But with her mother’s life hanging by a thread, she sold herself to the monster who devoured her soul. Lucian crushed her, made her beg for scraps of dignity. Then, his best friend offered everything Lucian withheld—gentle hands, tender words, a love that didn't wound. Lucian returned. Now, he's a shadow, everywhere: watching her with hungry eyes, touching her with possessive hands, swearing this time will be different. He pleaded, on his knees, for her heart. But Lyra knows better. She’s uncovered three explosive truths: Lucian's first wife wasn't just gone; she was murdered. Her sister didn't disappeared. And the most dangerous lie of all? She's been sleeping with it. Game over? Or game just beginning? As Lucian's obsession escalates and the past claws its way back, Lyra will choose between revenge, accept or reject.

By the seventh year of my engagement to Tristan, he postponed our wedding for the third time. The reason was simple. His childhood sweetheart, Gabriella, had returned to the country. She had just gone through a divorce and was emotionally unstable. Tristan personally retrieved every invitation we had sent out, his tone calm and steady. "Gabby has no one by her side right now. I can't upset her at a time like this." I held the ring that had already been resized twice and asked, "What about me?" Tristan glanced at me. "You're different. You're sensible." I had been hearing that word for seven years. Sensible. When his startup failed, I sold the old house my grandmother had left me to help him pay off his debts. When he suffered a gastric hemorrhage, I stayed at the hospital for three days straight and missed my own promotion defense. When his mother said my background was too ordinary for him, he only rubbed his temples and said, "Tori, don't make this difficult for me." Every time, I nodded. He once told me that no matter how thick the fog became, he would always leave a light on for me. Until the day Gabriella stood in front of the mirror wearing my wedding dress and smiled as she asked, "Victoria, you don't mind, do you? Tristan said your wedding's being postponed anyway." Tristan stood behind her. He did not deny it. He even reached out and adjusted her veil for her. The fog lamp he had given me with his own hands sat by the display window of the bridal shop. It was still lit, illuminating someone else in the white dress I had waited seven years to wear. Only then did I realize that some roads were not lost because the fog was too thick. It was because he had never planned to come for me at all.

On the morning of my wedding, I found a saved voice message on Elliot Mercer's phone. It was only four seconds long, barely long enough to matter, yet the girl's voice filled the bridal suite as if she had stepped into the room herself. "I miss you, Elliot. I know I shouldn't." The makeup artist had just finished pinning the last pearl into my hair. My dress was zipped, my veil was hanging over the back of a chair, and downstairs, two hundred guests were waiting for me to marry the man I had loved for seven years. Elliot stood behind me in the mirror, already dressed in his black tuxedo. "She was drunk," he said. "It happened after the firm retreat. Someone dared her to send it." I checked their messages with shaking hands. Case notes. Coffee orders. Court schedules. Her apologies whenever she needed him again. His replies, patient and calm, as if being needed by her had become part of his day. There was nothing explicit. That almost made it worse. I couldn't point to one sentence and call it betrayal. I could only feel the space she had taken from me, quietly and steadily, while I was busy trusting him. My tears fell onto the lace of my dress. "Block her," I said. "Block Tessa now, and I'll still walk down that aisle." Elliot looked at me for a long moment. Then he took the phone from my hand. "After the ceremony, I'll have her moved off my cases," he said. "You have my word." Seven years together, and I still wanted his word to mean something. Then his phone rang. He looked down, and I saw Tessa's name before he turned the screen away. A second later, her text appeared. I'm outside. I can't breathe. Please don't make me do this alone. Elliot's face changed. I caught his wrist before he could reach the door. "If you leave this room," I said, my voice trembling, "don't come back expecting me to marry you." For one second, he looked like the choice hurt him. Then he peeled my fingers from his sleeve, one by one, and walked out of the bridal suite.