Lyra's fork clattered against her plate. "I didn't do that!"
The staff exchanged uneasy glances as the romantic dinner turned into a heated argument.
Lucas shoved a hand into his pocket and tossed a stack of photographs across the table. They scattered like evidence from a crime scene.
Each one showed her profile—unmistakable—slipping into a stranger's house under the cover of darkness.
"What do you say to this?" Lucas demanded.
Lyra's eyes flicked to the photos. She picked them up, one by one, her fingers trembling slightly. But after she realize, she pinch the bridge of her nose as she recognized the place.
"Lucas…" She groaned, letting out a long sigh as she almost cried when his old habit had dragged her into this mess. Once again, his overly jealous nature made him unable to think straight.
"You're jumping to conclusions again, aren't you?" she asked, exhaling softly.
"What? That's proof! Don't you see it?" he insisted.
"That's Mrs. Brown's house," said Lyra, her voice calm and steady. "I'm the family doctor, and Mr. Roger is the neighbor. He's the one who called me during the emergency, so of course he was there. Besides—"
"There… you just said it," Lucas hissed, jabbing a finger toward her.
"Said what?" Lyra blinked, confused.
"Mr. Roger was there…" Lucas's voice rose. "Don't tell me nothing happened, Lyra!"
Her eyes widened, disbelief flickering across her face.
"You can't possibly think I—"
"You're having an affair with Mr. Roger!" Lucas spat the words, anger spilling from his mind before he could stop himself.
"Enough, Lucas!" She slammed the photos back onto the table. "I will not stand here and be insulted."
She rose abruptly, the chair falling with a dull thud.
"Lyra!"
She walked away without looking back.
Their wedding was only two days away. People often said it was normal for couples to quarrel before such a big day. But Lucas was really starting to get on her nerves.
Lyra strode out of the restaurant and headed straight for a cab she spotted waiting by the roadside. Not far behind, Lucas came running, his coat flaring as he clutched it with one hand.
"Lyra!" he shouted, sprinting after her, and caught her before she could reach the cab.
Her gaze fell, the world around her blurring, and shame washed over her—she felt as if she'd hit rock bottom under his accusations.
Lucas froze at the sight of her tears. He pull her into his arms, as if he could console her. But Lyra, her heart torn, broke free, her hands trembling against his chest.
"Lyra, I—"
Lyra raised her hand, refusing to listen any longer. "Please… just let me go."
She quickly turned around and ran to the waiting cab without a second thought. As the door shut, the car pulled away, disappeared into traffic. Lucas cursed under his breath and flung his coat to the ground in frustration.
"I crossed the line!" he admitted, regret coloring his voice as he thought about what he done. The romantic dinner, now lay in ruins.
From a distance, an office-clad woman watching scene before her. It was none other than Nadia Klein, Lucas's secretary.
"The plan worked," she said softly, her smile sweet but eyes sharp. "Now let's see how long love can survive a little chaos."
Nadia watched Lucas grabbed his coat from the floor and headed for his car, felt a quiet thrill rise within her.
She had fallen for him long ago, but Lucas had never once looked at her the way he looked at that oh-so-righteous Dr. Lyra Ashford. And so she acted, weaving lies, feeding his doubts, twisting every truth. With his jealous nature, her poison took root—growing until he could no longer see the truth.
…
"Mistvale Government Hospital," Lyra said, struggling to catch her breath as she gave the driver the directions. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she quickly wiped them away with a trembling hand.
She failed to notice another passenger sitting in the front of her. The man simply raised a finger—a silent gesture instructing the driver to do exactly as she said. The middle-aged driver nodded in understanding and pressed the gas.
The cab lurched forward, speeding away into the night, while the man's lips curled into a cold, amused smile as he watched his long-time rival fling his jacket to the ground in frustration.
Rowan Pierce, a man in a suit, sat quietly as Lyra's soft sobs filled the cab, drifting through the air like a mournful song. He said nothing, having already witnessed the scene unfold.
Lyra gazed out the window, hoped the passing cityscape might ease the weight on her chest.
If she returned home right way, her grandmother would surely grow suspicious. It could be too much for her weary heart.
"What are you thinking, Lucas?" she muttered.
Every part of her loved him, yet that same love was what broke her heart when things went wrong.
'Maybe it's my fault—I lost control and ran away,' she thought.
'What should I do?' she asked herself silently.
'Maybe I should ask Mrs. Brown to explain? No… I shouldn't disturb her. She needs her rest.'
Her thoughts were a tangled mess, and the urge to scream clawed at her throat—but then she remembered she was still in the cab. So she punched the seat in front of her as hard as she could, treating it like a makeshift punching bag.
Rowan didn't feel much from the blow, but he did raise a brow—apparently, his seat had just become her therapist.
The big sign with the glowing words MISTVALE GOVERNMENT HOSPITAL came into view, and the cab screeched against the road before coming to a smooth halt.
"We've arrived, miss," the deep voice of the middle-aged driver broke the silence.
Lyra paid him, adding a little extra—perhaps out of gratitude, or perhaps because he'd had no choice but to listen to her quiet sobs all the way. Or maybe it was an apology for the seat she'd treated like a punching bag.
"Thank you, miss," he said gently, pity softening his voice. Such a young and pretty woman, yet burdened by the weight of love.
Rowan watched as Lyra slipped out of the cab and hurried through the hospital doors. She never once noticed he'd been there the whole time.
The cab pulled away, heading toward the Pierce family's towering office building.
As they arrived, Rowan stepped out immediately, but the driver came running toward him, holding something that reflected the dim glow of the streetlights—a small, gleaming object that screamed expensive.
"Sir, you dropped this," the driver said.
Rowan frowned. It wasn't his, but perhaps it belonged to that woman. He took it anyway. "Thank you," he said, slipping it into his pocket before striding into the building.