The radiator in the hallway of the Sinclair home let out a sharp, metallic hiss, a sound that usually blended into the background of Lyra's life but today sounded like a boiler reaching its breaking point. It was a fitting soundtrack. The Queens apartment, which usually felt cozy and full of life, felt impossibly small, claustrophobic, almost as if the very walls were leaning in to witness the charade Lyra was about to perform. She smoothed the front of her dress for the tenth time in five minutes, her palms damp despite the chill.
"He'll be here any minute, Lyra. Stop fidgeting," Vivienne said, though she was doing plenty of fidgeting herself. She was fussing over a pot of her signature beef stew, the rich, savory steam filling the kitchen. She had put on her best pearl earrings and a soft blue sweater, looking every bit the hopeful, elegant mother of the bride.
Lyra forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not fidgeting, Mom. I'm just... making sure I look presentable."
"Presentable? Darling, you look like a dream. If I were a billionaire, I'd have proposed in a week, too," Vivienne teased, giving the stew a final stir.
A lie. Every bit of it was a lie. Lyra felt like she might never eat again. The knot in her stomach was tied tight with the jagged threads of the contract she had signed. Then, the buzzer rang.
It was a sharp, clinical sound that sliced through the domestic warmth like a scalpel. Lyra's heart did a slow, heavy roll in her chest. She walked to the door, her legs feeling like they belonged to a wooden marionette. When she pulled it open, the hallway light caught the sharp, expensive lines of a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her mother's car.
Elias Thorne stood there, holding a bottle of vintage wine and a bouquet of lilies so white they looked like they'd been sculpted from ice. He was a jarring sight against the peeling wallpaper of the apartment building; a diamond dropped in a gravel pit. His grey-blue eyes swept over her, unreadable and cool, before he offered a practiced, shallow smile.
"Good evening, Lyra," he said. His voice was like silk over gravel, perfectly modulated.
"Elias. Come in." She stepped back, her skin prickling as he brushed past her. The scent of him, expensive cedarwood, cold rain, and crisp stationery, immediately invaded the space, overwriting the smell of home-cooked stew.
The introduction was a masterclass in deception. Elias moved into the small living room with the grace of a predator pretending to be a guest. When Vivienne stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, Elias stepped forward with an ease that made Lyra's stomach churn.
"Mrs. Sinclair," he said, extending a hand. "It is a true honor to finally meet the woman who raised such a remarkable daughter."
Vivienne beamed, her initial nerves melting under the sun of his manufactured charm. "Oh, please, call me Vivienne. And the pleasure is all mine, Elias. Lyra has told me so much about you."
Lyra looked at the floor, praying her mother wouldn't ask for specifics. They moved to the small dining table, which Vivienne had draped in her finest lace cloth, the one saved for holidays. The seating was tight; Elias's broad shoulders seemed to take up half the room, and his long legs were tucked awkwardly under the modest wooden table.
As the meal began, the interrogation followed. Vivienne was polite, but she was a mother, and mothers had a way of digging for the truth even when they didn't know they were looking for it.
"It all happened so fast," Vivienne said, ladling stew into Elias's bowl. "A whirlwind, Lyra called it. I must admit, as a mother, it gives one pause. You're a very busy man, Elias. What was it about my Lyra that made you certain so quickly?"
Elias didn't blink. He picked up his silver spoon, looking at the humble meal as if it were a delicacy at a Michelin-star restaurant. "In my world, Vivienne, we are taught to recognize value immediately. When I saw Lyra at the gallery, I didn't see just a beautiful woman. I saw a light that I realized I couldn't imagine my life without. I realized very quickly that I didn't want to spend another day, another hour, wondering 'what if.' That's why I've asked her to marry me so soon. I simply can't imagine another day without her by my side."
The words were perfect. They were romantic, decisive, and utterly hollow. Lyra felt a chill. He was so good at this. He was selling a fantasy to a woman who desperately needed to believe in one to explain her son's sudden "corporate training" and her daughter's sudden fortune.
"And your family, Elias?" Vivienne asked, her brow furrowing slightly, the first sign of the intuition Lyra feared. "Lyra mentioned they wouldn't be able to make the ceremony. It's such a shame. I was looking forward to meeting the people who raised a man like you."
Elias took a slow sip of water, the glass looking like a toy in his hand. "It is a deep regret of mine. They are currently across the globe, business in Singapore and London that requires their personal oversight. My father is... traditional about these things. He won't leave a closing for anything less than a funeral. However, I've already spoken to them. We will be introducing them to Lyra immediately upon their return. They are eager to welcome her into the fold."
Vivienne nodded, but her smile was a fraction less bright. "I see. It just feels so lonely for you, having no one from your side there. Are you sure we shouldn't wait a month? Just a few weeks?"
"I have Lyra," Elias said, reaching across the table to cover Lyra's hand with his own. His skin was warm, but the gesture felt like a brand, a reminder of ownership. "That is more than enough for me. Waiting feels like an unnecessary cruelty."
The front door opened then, saving Lyra from having to find a response. Maeve walked in, still in her work clothes, her red hair windblown and her eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting a snake in her nest.
"Sorry I'm late," Maeve said, her voice dripping with a false sweetness that Lyra knew was a deadly omen. "Traffic was crazy. I assume this is the man of the hour?" [1]
The tension in the room spiked. Elias stood up, a polite mask firmly in place. "You must be Maeve. Lyra has told me you are her fiercest protector."
Maeve walked over, dropping her bag on the counter with a heavy thud. She didn't shake his hand; she just looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his suit. "Fierce is one word for it. 'Exhausted' is another. Nice to meet the man who's buy... I mean, marrying my best friend."
"Maeve, sit down, have some stew," Vivienne urged, sensing the friction but misinterpreting it as simple protectiveness.
For the next hour, Maeve played her part. She knew the truth, she knew about the debt, and she knew the contract. But she watched Elias with a visceral disgust. She watched how he manipulated Vivienne's hopes and how he sat in their small kitchen like he was visiting a museum of poverty. Every time he spoke, she gripped her fork a little tighter.
Sometime after dessert, Elias excused himself to find the restroom. The moment the hallway door closed behind him, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Vivienne went to the kitchen to start the dishes, humming a soft tune, leaving Lyra and Maeve at the table.
"He's a shark, Ly," Maeve hissed, leaning in. "A well-dressed, silver-tongued shark. I know why he's here but seeing him do this to your mom... it's sick."
"Maeve, please, just get through the night," Lyra pleaded in a whisper.
In the hallway, Elias was washing his hands, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. The door swung open.
Maeve stood there, blocking his exit. She didn't look "feisty" anymore; she looked lethal. She stepped into the small space, forcing the billionaire to back up against the porcelain.
"Cut the crap, Thorne," she said, her voice a low, vibrating growl. "We're alone. You don't have to perform for me."
Elias straightened his tie, his expression shifting from "charming fiancé" to "CEO" in a heartbeat. The warmth left his eyes entirely, replaced by a cold, analytical steel. "I assume you have something to say, Maeve."
"I know exactly what this is," she said, stepping closer. "I know about Dorian. I know about the contract. I know you're buying two years of her life because you think people are just another asset you can liquidate. But listen to me carefully: Lyra is the best person I know. She's all heart and color, and she's doing this to save the only family she has left."
She poked a finger into his expensive chest. "If you do anything to dim her, if you treat her like a piece of furniture in that cold-ass mansion of yours, or if you make her cry because you've forgotten how to be a human being, you'll find out exactly how much I'm willing to lose to ruin you. I don't care about your money. I will burn your reputation to the ground to get her back. Do you understand me? She's a person, not a Muse for your collection."
Elias stared at her for a long, silent moment. He didn't look angry; he looked intrigued, as if he were studying a particularly aggressive species of wildlife. "I admire loyalty," he said coldly. "But don't mistake your proximity to her for power over me. The deal is signed. She is protected as long as she plays her part."
"She isn't a puppet," Maeve snapped. "And I'm watching you. Every single day."
"I'd expect nothing less," Elias replied. He stepped aside, swinging the door open. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a 'mother-in-law' to thank for dinner."
Elias walked out of the bathroom with his composure perfectly intact. He returned to the living room, thanked Vivienne for the "delightful" meal, and gathered his things. Lyra walked him to the door, the air between them vibrating with the silent aftermath of his encounter with Maeve.
They stepped out into the dim hallway, away from her mother's hearing. The transition was instant. The mask dropped, and the cold air of the stairwell seemed to suit him better than the warmth of the kitchen.
"Your friend is quite a firebrand," Elias remarked, his voice returning to its clinical, detached tone. "She seems to think I'm a villain in a Victorian novel."
"She thinks you're a man who doesn't know the value of what he's taking," Lyra said, leaning against the doorframe, feeling the weight of the day finally crushing her. "Everyone is starting to feel the edges of the lie, Elias. Even my mother felt something was off about your family being 'away.'"
"Then you had better sharpen your performance," he replied, his tone devoid of sympathy. He pulled a small leather-bound planner from his inner pocket. "Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock sharp. A car will be at your apartment to pick you up. We have an appointment at the jeweler. You need a ring that matches the story we're telling. Something that screams 'billionaire's obsession' and not 'art student's budget.'"
"I have a ring," Lyra said, thinking of a small silver band her father had given her.
Elias looked at her as if she had suggested wearing a piece of rusted wire. "You have a trinket. You are about to become the wife of Elias Thorne. You will wear something that reflects the weight of that title. It is a part of the uniform, Lyra. Don't be difficult."
He stepped closer, his presence looming over her in the dim hallway. For a second, Lyra thought he might say something human, something about the stew, or the fact that her mother liked him, or the way she looked in the light of the kitchen. Instead, he just checked his watch, the platinum face glinting.
"Be ready, Lyra. The 'grace' you asked for is half-spent. Don't be late."
He turned and walked away, his polished shoes echoing down the stairs with a rhythmic, final sound. Lyra watched him go, feeling the coldness of the hallway seep into her bones. She went back inside to find her mother smiling at the vintage wine bottle and Maeve staring at the door with a look that could kill.
The first supper was over. The trap was set. And tomorrow, the gold would begin to bind her.
[1] Did you guys see what i did here? lol please tell me someone is also as chronically online as i am. (;_;)