Lyra made her way to the parlor, where only the ticking of the clock dared to break the heavy silence.
"Miss, you're here." Dora appeared from the shadows behind her, and she jumped in surprise.
"Madam requests your presence," the maid announced.
Subconsciously, her gaze drifted upward to the first floor, to her grandmother's room. She swallowed slightly, then moved, ascending the grand staircase.
From afar, she noticed Nora stepping out of the room, her face pale.
Nora offered a small smile. "It's done," she said quietly. "…but she didn't say much," Nora murmured.
Nora seemed as if she might say more, but her voice caught. She patted Lyra lightly on the shoulder, intending reassurance, But it only made Lyra shrink back—because apparently, even gentle pats came with strings attached.
Inside the room, Mr. Cray, the butler, stood at the edge of the bed, his posture respectful as he listened to Madam Agnes. The quiet hum of their voices stilled when Dora announced Lyra's presence.
Agnes lifted a frail hand, motioning for her granddaughter to enter. The butler bowed slightly and slipped out, leave the heavy air between them.
Her face remained neutral, revealing nothing for Lyra to read. "Do you have anything to say?" she asked, voice calm but deadly.
Lyra's heart raced, how could she even begin? "Grandma… I… I know I've caused so much trouble."
Agnes leaned forward, voice low but sharp. "Is that all? Just acknowledging it?"
Lyra shook her head. "No… I'm sorry, truly."
"Sorry doesn't fix this!" Agnes stood, her fists clenched. "Do you have any idea how many eyes are on me right now? What am I supposed to tell them?"
Her breathing grew uneven. After a moment, she sank carefully onto the bed, taking a deep breath.
"Grandma, please… don't push yourself!" Lyra panicked, rushing to her side as she saw Agnes clutch her chest.
"You really want me to die early, don't you?" Agnes muttered, half-joking. A faint smirk tugged at her lips, but Lyra didn't notice—she was too busy wiping away her tears.
"Don't say that, Grandma," Lyra whispered, her voice trembling.
"How am I supposed to rest? My heart is shattered," Agnes said, her voice dripping with exaggerated sorrow—just enough for Lyra to feel guilty, though the faint glimmer in her eyes suggested she wasn't entirely serious.
Lyra cried, clutching her grandmother's knees. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to make you sad."
In her heart, Lyra vowed she would do anything to bring her grandmother peace.
"Lyra," Agnes began softly, brushing a strand of hair from the girl's face. "The wedding must go on, no exceptions."
Lyra blinked, taken aback.
"But I broke up with Lucas. There's no turning back," she said firmly.
"That's good," Agnes said, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips. "You will marry the one your grandfather has chosen."
…
Rowan sat in his dimly lit office, his eyes fixed on the documents before him. Stacks of papers and files were strewn across the desk.
His brow was furrowed in concentration when the door swung open without warning.
"Did you forget how to knock?" he asked.
"Congratulations, Boss! May your marriage be filled with endless love and joy," Kane said with a grin.
"Are you drunk?" Rowan's voice was calm but edged with irritation.
Before Rowan could slap Kane, Damian burst into the room.
"Boss! Your father has requested your presence," Damian said, slightly out of breath. "He wants you to bring all the documents for the marriage registration."
Moments later, Rowan arrived the Pierce Estate and burst into his father's study.
"What is the meaning of this, Father?!" he demanded, fury tightening his jaw.
His father looked up from behind the mahogany desk, unruffled by the intrusion.
"Welcome home, son," he said, setting his pen aside.
"Are you trying to strengthen your alliances through me?" Rowan asked, his tone sharp with restrained anger.
Marriage was a word absent from his life's dictionary, and yet they dared to impose it upon him. They had tried this before, but it had been annulled. And now, the thought of it again made his blood boil.