Lyra: The Billionaire's stolen wife

The rain lashed against the high-rise windows of Blackthorn Tower, each drop like a sharp memory hammering at the steel and glass. The city below shimmered in golden lights and blurred reflections-elegant, distant, cruel. Darian Blackthorn stood at the edge of it all, inside his fortress of wealth and secrets, a glass of scotch untouched in his hand.

He didn't blink. Didn't move.

Her name was still glowing on the contract displayed on his tablet. *Lyra Vexley-Blackthorn.* Legally bound. But legally meant nothing when the bed was cold and the silence louder than a scream.

Three months.

She had vanished-into smoke, into whispers. There had been no note, no explanation, just the clean break of high heels walking away from his empire. His men had searched. Security tapes scrubbed. Surveillance thwarted. It was almost artistic-the way she disappeared.

"She had help," Darian muttered.

With a grunt of fury, he crushed the tablet in his fist, the screen cracking under pressure. Glass splinters danced on the obsidian desk.

He had built an empire from steel, blood, and ruthlessness-but none of it prepared him for the way she had taken part of him with her. And worse, how he still wanted her back. Not for the contract. Not even for vengeance.

Because she was his.

---

Lyra Vexley walked beneath the rusted arches of Ravenport's old quarter, her cloak pulled tight against the wind's kiss. The cobblestones beneath her feet whispered memories she didn't want to hear.

She'd dyed her hair, changed her identity, abandoned everything that once tied her to Darian Blackthorn. But she could not shed the ghost of his touch. Her skin still remembered the bruising heat of his fingers, the way his voice lowered when she disobeyed. He had carved himself into her bones without permission.

And yet, she'd escaped.

For now.

She paused at a corner, eyes trailing to the cathedral rising in the distance. Once, she'd stood there with him. Once, she had believed the monster had a heart.

A black car pulled beside her. A man stepped out.

"Lyra," Nikolai Vescari greeted, his Russian accent smooth as silk wrapped around a dagger. "Time to go home."

She arched a brow. "To which one?"

He smirked. "The one with the devil you already know."

She slipped into the vehicle, heart pounding.

She wasn't going back as a wife.

She was returning as a storm.

---

Two weeks earlier, she'd met Nikolai in the ruins of Corsova, a villa tucked high above the sea. The mafia prince had eyes like broken ice and a mouth made for lies. But he had been honest in one thing:

"You want freedom, you'll need war."

He had offered protection. A new identity. Resources to vanish forever. She had almost taken it.

Until he'd asked the question no one had dared: "Do you still love him?"

And she hadn't answered.

Because yes. And no. And something else entirely.

---

Inside Blackthorn Tower, Felix-the head of Darian's elite security-entered the office like he was walking into a lion's cage.

"We found her," he said, his voice tight.

Darian didn't turn. "Where?"

"With Vescari. Ravenport airfield. Arrived an hour ago."

"She made no effort to hide?"

"None."

Darian finally turned. His eyes were bloodshot, lips tight.

"She wants me to know. She wants to provoke."

Felix hesitated. "Sir... what's your play?"

"Prepare the original contract," Darian said.

"But-"

"No amendments. No mercy. She wants a game, Felix? I'll give her war."

---

The elevator ride up to the top floor of Blackthorn Tower felt like judgment. Lyra stood still, veiled in black, Nikolai beside her, calm as death.

"You sure you want this?" he asked.

"No," she said.

He chuckled. "Good. That means you're not stupid."

The elevator chimed.

Darian was waiting.

He wore darkness like a suit-flawless, clean-cut, deadly. His hands were behind his back. His stare hit like a whip.

"Lyra," he said.

"Don't say it like you own me," she replied, stepping out.

He didn't flinch. "You walked away from the table, not the contract."

Nikolai moved between them. "She walked into freedom. Maybe that's what you don't understand."

Darian's eyes narrowed. "I understand loyalty."

Lyra's laugh cracked like thunder. "You understand control. That's not the same."

Darian reached into his coat and pulled a crisp folder. He threw it on the glass table nearby.

"This is your name, your signature, your terms. You agreed."

"When I didn't know what it would cost me."

"Everything worthwhile costs something."

She stepped forward, fire in her veins.

"You didn't want a wife, Darian. You wanted a possession. A body that didn't speak unless spoken to."

His jaw flexed. "You knew what you signed."

"And you knew I was broken. You made use of that."

Nikolai stepped in. "Enough. This isn't a court. This is a trap."

Darian turned to him, voice cold. "What's your price? To leave her. To forget she ever existed."

"I don't sell people."

"Everyone has a price."

Lyra's voice was low. "Stop. Both of you. This isn't about contracts or mafias or power plays."

She met Darian's gaze.

"This is about the night you held me like I was something real-and the next morning, you became the machine again."

He said nothing.

She turned to Nikolai. "And you-offering safety like it's love, when really, I'm just a trophy Darian can't touch."

Silence.

"You want to fight over me?" Her eyes gleamed. "Then I'll make you bleed for it."

---

The storm outside intensified. Thunder rumbled as if summoned by her rage.

Darian stepped forward.

"I never stopped wanting you."

Lyra's breath caught.

"Then why did you let me go?"

"Because loving you felt like weakness. And I don't do weakness."

"Then maybe you don't deserve love."

Their eyes locked-anger, desire, history all crashing like waves between them.

Nikolai's phone buzzed. He glanced down, face going pale.

"We have to leave. Now."

Lyra frowned. "What is it?"

"Someone leaked your location. There's a bounty on you now."

Darian looked at Lyra. "You're safer here."

She hesitated.

The choice was hers now.

To run again.

Or to stay and burn.