[Altar Heartbreak: Lyra Ashford Dumped]
[Ashford Family Silent Amid Wedding Scandal]
By morning, the news had spread like wildfire, only to vanish just as quickly, leaving no trace behind, but the damage was already done. Reporters swarmed outside the Hale estate, desperate for a glimpse of her, eager to uncover every sordid detail of the ill-fated marriage.
The Hale household had no choice but to call the police, as some reporters tried to barge in illegally, desperate for even a single scrap of the scandal.
Amid the chaos, the guests were quietly informed that the ceremony had been moved to the evening at a new venue.
From her balcony, Lyra watched the garden below, its familiar paths transformed into a flurry of activity.
Morning at the Hale Estate was alive with motion. Staff bustled about, arranging flowers, adjusting lights, and rushing to perfect every detail before the ceremony began later that afternoon.
The air buzzed with a mix of excitement and tension, each movement a step toward the event that had suddenly become the talk of the town.
She wondered how Lucas would react when he learned that she was marrying someone else. There was no escaping the marriage, after all.
"I should be happy… this is what Grandpa wished for," Lyra murmured, staring out the window at the unfamiliar visitor.
The sleek black luxury car slipped through the gates of the Hale estate, its gleaming surface reflecting the soft morning light.
A soft knock came at her door. "Miss, Mr. Arthur has arrived."
Lyra moved to the mirror, giving herself one last glance. The document in her hand felt heavier than it actually was. She drew in a steady breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped out of the room.
Damian sat in the luxurious parlor, rising at once when she entered, his posture straightening instinctively.
"Miss Ashford, I'm here to collect the document for the marriage registration," he said, his tone polite though his gaze lingered a moment too long.
Lyra wasn't merely beautiful but there was something almost otherworldly about her, a delicate grace that made her seem fairy-like. Her slender frame, honey-blonde hair that shimmered softly in the light, and her sea-colored eyes gave her an ethereal, enchanting presence.
Damian was completely hypnotized, spellbound by her beauty.
"Earth to Mr. Arthur." Dora waved frantically in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Here." Lyra handed him the document. "I didn't mean to trouble you," she apologized.
"It's no trouble," he replied evenly. "Reporters have been crowding outside. It's safer if you remain here."
"Mr. Pierce sends his apologies," Damian added, his tone respectful. "He wanted to come, but he couldn't get out of a meeting this morning."
"I see," Lyra murmured, reaching for her purse. "Here's my ID card."
"Yes, Miss Ashford," he said, taking it from her carefully. "Everything's ready. I'll head back now."
"Wait… Mr. Arthur." Lyra lifted her hand slightly, stopping him in his tracks.
Damian turned to her with a polite look. "Anything else, Miss Ashford?"
"I was just wondering…" she hesitated, her fingers tightening around her skirt. "Did Mr. Pierce agree to this marriage willingly? After all, it happened so suddenly."
Lyra finally admitted what had been weighing on her mind.
"Um.." Damian's expression stiffened for a moment before he forced a smile. "O-of course he did. Otherwise, why would he let me handle the marriage process?"
"Is that so?" Lyra murmured.
Damian nodded, a faint, polite smile still fixed on his face.
"If there's nothing else, Miss Ashford, I'll take my leave," Damian said with a half-grin. "I should get this processed before someone changes their mind."
"Huh? Who do you mean?" Lyra asked, bewildered.
"Ah, everything's fine. No one's changed their mind." Dora wouldn't let Damian distort her young mistress's thoughts. She quickly escorted him to the door, leaving Lyra alone in the parlor, blinking in confusion.
Lyra thought about yesterday's incident—the moment a man had saved her, and, out of nowhere, turned out to be the one her grandfather had chosen for her.
It happened years ago, when her elders arranged her marriage while she was studying abroad and everything changed the moment she returned home, with Lucas Arden already in her heart.
They annulled the arrangement and let the matter fade away without her ever knowing it had existed. Even her father hadn't said a word, out of respect for her choice.
Even so, her late grandfather had told Agnes, if Lucas Arden ever changed his heart and left her, she was to fulfil his last wish, for Lyra to marry the man he had chosen instead.
"But yesterday, did he know who I am?" she muttered under her breath.
Lyra pulled out a photograph—an image of him, but younger. The same amethyst eyes, the same clean, sculpted features, and the same calm expression made him unmistakably the same man.
…
Miles away, Lucas sat at his desk, effortlessly striking in a black suit and tie, though the strain of work lingered in his eyes.
He glanced up at the quiet tap of heels.
Nadia leaned forward slightly, extending a document towards him. Their fingers brushed for the briefest moment, and she murmured an apology before stepping back and heading to another room.
She stacked the papers neatly, grabbed her phone, and climbed up to the rooftop. At the edge, she pressed her back against the low parapet and dialed a number.
"What now?" The call barely rang once before a weary voice snapped.
"How strange," Nadia sneered. "Not a peep about Lyra Ashford."
"They were paid to look the other way," the voice hissed.
Nadia's fingers clenched around the phone, her knuckles white. "By whom?"
"I've no clue," he lied. He didn't dare utter the name.
"Then pay them more!" she snapped. Nadia thought there had to be another way.
"We'd be crushed if we tried to fight him. I'm off!" The line went dead almost immediately.
"Bastard!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Nadia's frustration boiled over. Her hand shot up, ready to hurl her phone off the rooftop, yet she froze at the last second.
"Time for another plan," Nadia muttered, her mind already brimming with wicked thoughts.