Ten years. Ten years of waiting for those boys to soften. Ten years of hoping they’d love me.
I dragged out my suitcase and began packing.
The door slammed open. Magnus stormed in.
“What madness has possessed you?”
I kept packing.
He grabbed the suitcase and flung it across the room. Clothes scattered everywhere.
“Now you’re listening.”
“Keep it,” I said bitterly. “Everything here is poisoned.”
“Enough!” He grabbed my shoulders and shook me.
“Touch me again and I’ll break your fingers.”
He froze, staring at me. “What happened to you?”
“You liked me better silent,” I said. “Now that I’m done swallowing it, I’m the problem?”
“Calm down,” he said. “Let me explain.”
“Go on.”
“Elara is sick,” he said. “Cancer. She doesn’t have long. The boys begged me to make her their mother so she can pass peacefully.”
I laughed—cold and sharp.
“Two years, right? And after that you’ll finally marry me?”
“Yes,” he said quickly.
“So what do you want from me?”
He smiled, kissing my cheek. “Stay. Take care of the twins while I take Elara overseas for treatment.”
I nodded. I smiled.
“Alright.”
Relief washed over his face as he left.
The moment the door closed, my smile vanished.
Behind me, someone clapped.
Slow. Mocking.
Elara leaned against the doorway.
“You really think you’re stupid, Lyra,” she said sweetly. “Otherwise, you’d already know.”
She stepped closer, placing a hand on her stomach.
“I’ve been sleeping with Magnus for three years,” she whispered.
“And I’m pregnant with his baby.”
Lyra’s POV
I spun around to face Elara.
She stood in my doorway like she owned the room—chin lifted, lips curled in that smug little smile that made my skin crawl.
“What do you want?” I snarled.
Her little pregnancy reveal didn’t shock me. Not anymore. After eleven years of watching Magnus betray me in new ways, I’d learned one rule: never assume you’ve seen the worst of him.
Or anyone tied to him.
Elara tilted her head, all fake sweetness. “I came to apologize.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Save it. Your apology means nothing to me.”
Her eyes narrowed for a second, then she sighed dramatically. “But I was thinking…” she murmured. “What if people finally heard the truth? That you’ve been bullying me all this time?”
I snorted. “I don’t care enough about you to bully you. And I’m not interested in your little victim act.”
I bent down, grabbed my suitcase, and went back to packing. Shirts. Dresses. Anything I could shove inside fast.