"James Dolan's innocent… please!" she begged Rowan to stop, to reconsider, not to hurt James.
Rowan hesitated, his finger tightening on the trigger.
How could she trust that man? No—she had no idea who he really was.
Seeing Rowan stand firm, James shoved the pistol into Lyra's hand. "I promise, one twitch and she'll put a hole in me," he shouted, drawing a wary glance from Rowan.
Lyra yelped at the cold metal against her palm and flung the gun aside. "Ah! What are you doing?" she snapped, glaring at him.
James muttered, shaking his head. "Seriously?" She just tossed it like that.
He snatched up his custom piece—a gun worth thousands and forced it back into her hands. "Hold it."
"Not happening." Lyra shoved it right back and turned to Rowan. "Let him go. I swear, he won't come back."
Sweat slicked her brow as she wiped it away, her throat raw and burning from thirst.
"Come here, Lyra." Rowan's aim never left James. His other hand reached out, urging her to step closer, but she remained rooted to the spot.
His gut twisted. Never in his life had he hesitated over a decision—yet this woman, his wife of barely two days, made him falter!
"Keep my wife out of your filthy game, or I'll bury you with it!" He warned.
Around them, the men exchanged look, but none dared to intervene.
"Tsk… what a pain." James spat on the ground and glared at him. "Look, Yvette's still out there somewhere—"
James caught the danger in his periphery and yanked Lyra close.
"Crack! Crack! Crack!" Three cracks tore from the abandoned house.
…
Lyra stirred, her lashes fluttering against the faint glow of morning light. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and the steady beep of a monitor pulsed beside her.
For a moment, she didn't move—her mind still fogged, trapped between dream and memory. Then it all came rushing back.
The gunfire, the blood, James collapsing over her.
"James!" she gasped, trying to sit up.
"He's dead." The voice was cold, with a sharp edge when he heard her say another man's name. Owen pressed her shoulder down firmly. "Don't move. You need rest."
Lyra blinked in confusion. He was wearing a hospital gown. "Why are you here?" her voice cracked.
Owen helped her sip some water to moist her throat.
"Thanks," Lyra murmured.
"Why am I here?" he echoed, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Because of you."
That night, he'd been drunk—but he'd driven out to save her. His car had gone off the bridge. And now, he was here.
"I want to see James," she said, lifting her blanket, but Owen stopped her with a firm hand.
He shook his head slightly. Did she even hear him?
He repeated, "James Dolan is dead."
"No…" Lyra's voice trembled, her head shaking in denial.
"Windsor shot him straight—" He stopped himself, lips pressing shut.
Yvette Windsor shot him straight in the head. He didn't need to go on. This woman in front of him couldn't stand that blow.
"Lyra." Owen reached for her hand, but she pulled away quickly.
"Don't touch me. Go back to your room," she snapped, glaring at him.
He clenched his fists, then yanked the hair tie from his wrist and pulled his long hair up into a tight tie.
"Fine, but listen to me, Lyra—Rowan isn't the man you think he is. Did you feel the danger in those first days as his wife?" He leaned closer, and she recoiled.
"Divorce him. I can't bear to watch you get hurt," he begged.
The door slid open as Dominic and Monica returned holding some takeout.
"Aunt Monica, this guy's here again!" Dominic rushed to his sister's side. "Go away! Don't bother my sister."
"I'm leaving. Somebody has to keep the peace, apparently." Owen said, raising both hands as he stepped out of the room. Monica stared at him as he walked away.
"Uh… Monica," she said awkwardly.
Monica raised an eyebrow, smiling. "No, no. You call me Mom."
Lyra blinked. "Mom?"
"Yes, Mom," Monica repeated. "It's easier and a lot less formal."
"Okay… Mom." She glanced past Monica, expecting to see someone. "Where's Rowan?"
Monica set the takeout on the table. "Stonehollow. Today's James Dolan's funeral."
She opened each container slowly, gracefully, "Don't worry too much. You need to rest—Rowan and Albert will handle everything."
"Come here, sweetie. Eat first," she called gently to Dominic, and he ran to get his breakfast.
Monica chewed the inside of her cheek and pointed at Lyra. "You need something soft… you haven't eaten in three days. Maybe some porridge. I'll call the nurse."
Lyra froze at the words three days. That's when she realized she'd been unconscious for that long.
…
Lucas arrived in Mistvale City, two days after his wedding was supposed to happen and went straight to his office, where a mountain of work awaited.
The next day, Hudson went to get the marriage license, but he returned with news that made Lucas's stomach sink. The document was stamped VOID.
"Call the registry office. Set up an appointment for me," he said, voice tight as he closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.
Hudson hesitated, but he had to speak. "I thought they'd made a mistake… but Lyra Ashford is married."
Lucas's eyes snapped open, locking onto Hudson.
"She married Rowan Pierce," Hudson added.
Lucas froze. For a heartbeat, he didn't breathe. Then, out of nowhere, a sharp laugh tore from his throat.
"No way she could've done that," he said, shaking his head as if trying to dismiss the words. "She wouldn't dare," he murmured, bitter sound. "Of course. Of all people."
"Where did you hear this rubbish?" Lucas snapped, his voice low and dangerous.
"Registry Office, of course," he replied.
Lucas waved as he spoke, "There must be some mistake. It's fine. Have Klein schedule an appointment. I'll stop by the office after lunch."