Mira Writes의 작품

Lyra’s POV“Get the hell up, Lyra, you have a visitor.”The guard’s voice was a growl, thick with annoyance as he slammed his palm against the iron bars. The sharp clang echoed through the cold, moldy walls of my cell like a death bell.A visitor?I squinted against the weak beam of sunlight filtering through the barred window. In five months—five long, soul-chewing months—not a single soul had come to see me. Not even to spit in my direction.“What? Are you deaf now?” the guard barked, pulling the chains that shackled my wrists to the wall. “Move!”My legs, stiff and sore from days of barely moving, wobbled beneath me. Heavy chains clanked with each step as I shuffled forward, wrists bound, ankles trapped. The guard shoved me hard in the back, nearly sending me to the filthy floor.“I said move!”“I heard you the first time, Shrek,” I muttered, just loud enough for him to catch.He grunted but didn’t respond. Probably used to inmates cracking from being locked away. But I wasn’t crac

Vincenzo’s POVI stared at Frank for a moment, the tension simmering just beneath my skin. The ballroom's golden chandeliers blurred in the background as if the world had shifted out of focus and left only his words hanging—she likes you.A slow grin cracked my face, disbelief wrestling with hope. I threw my drink—an obnoxiously expensive glass of scotch—over my shoulder. It smashed on the marble floor with a satisfying crack! Heads turned. I didn’t care."FRANK!" I bellowed, flinging my arms open and grabbing him in a crushing bear hug. He smelled like cheap cologne and bad decisions. "You’ve got the best damn view in the house!"Frank coughed. "Vince, I think my spine just cracked.""Shut up and feel appreciated, you sentimental hedgehog!" I released him and stepped back, slapping both hands on his shoulders. "You saw it. You saw it! Lyra looked at me like I was the only man in the room!""I mean," Frank began cautiously, eyes darting toward the shattered remains of my scotch, "she

Marcello’s POVI was in my chamber sipping my wine when the door was angrily pushed open. I knew it would be her—no one else stormed into my private quarters like that.I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look up. I merely took another sip, letting the sharp, aged taste of the red run over my tongue as I settled further into the velvet chair. I snickered softly.“Rebekah,” I said, her name a calm ripple in the storm that was about to break. “To what do I owe this... delightful intrusion?”“You bought her,” she spat, voice shaking with fury. “You bought Lyra.”I lifted my gaze, finally meeting hers. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her hands clenched at her sides, eyes ablaze. Her beauty always intensified when she was furious—like a storm about to rip the sky open.“So she told you,” I murmured, letting the glass dangle lazily from my fingers. “That surprises me. She hardly speaks to me at all.”“You’re not answering the question,” she snapped, stepping forward. Her boots struck the marble like

Lyra’s POV“I can't occupy everywhere if it’s a joke to you. I’m a bit too slim and tall for that. I don’t have the luxury of blending into tight corners like a mouse or sliding between bars like some rogue in a fairy tale.” I tried to explain myself to Rebekah, who had appeared outside my cell with a glint in her eye that suggested she found all of this a bit too entertaining.She sat down on the stone bench beside me—closer than I expected—like we were longtime friends catching up. Her face hovered near mine, scanning my expression with the curiosity of someone watching a particularly juicy drama unfold. My eyes must’ve told the story already. Stressed. Tired. Worn out like a shirt that had been through too many washes and too many bad days.“You look like someone used you to clean the floor,” she said, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. “Your eyeballs are screaming, girl.”I huffed, folding my arms over my bony chest. “Thanks, Rebekah. Nothing like being compared to a rag to brigh

Meera’s POVGabriel snorted. “They look like they’d taste like old money and cruelty.”I laughed—sharp and sudden—and it startled both of us. I hadn’t realized how close I was to shattering until the sound escaped.Gabriel reached across the gearshift and laced his fingers with mine. “We’ll figure it out. I’ve got some cash. I mean, not mansion-cash. But enough.”“I don’t care about the money,” I whispered.“I know. That’s what scares him.” He glanced over. “You’re the only thing in his world that doesn’t have a price tag.”I stared at him, at the curve of his jaw, the tiny scar near his eyebrow from when he fell off his skateboard last year, the way he looked at me like I was human—messy, complicated, and still worth choosing.“Where are we going?” I asked.He smiled. “Anywhere but there.”Which turned out to be a 24-hour diner that smelled like burnt coffee and salvation. We slid into a booth with cracked red vinyl seats, steam clinging to the windows, everything humming with fluore

Meera’s POV“I’m not having this conversation again.” I crossed my arms and leaned back into the velvet couch like it was my throne. “You hate Gabriel. We get it. Move on.”Dad stood by the fireplace like some overgrown villain from a period drama, one hand wrapped around a crystal glass of scotch he hadn’t even sipped. He wasn’t drinking. He was brooding.“You’re throwing your future away for a boy with no legacy, no—no direction,” he snapped. “Do you know what the Sinclairs think about this?”“The Sinclairs can choke.” I said it calmly, too calmly, which I knew would needle him more than screaming.His eyes flared. “Meerah.”“Don’t Meerah me,” I shot back. “You act like I’m bringing home some street criminal. He’s smart, kind, and he doesn’t kiss your ass, which, let’s be honest, is the real issue here.”Dad laughed, the kind of cruel, clipped sound that made my stomach twist. “Kind? Is that what you think this boy is? Sweetheart, he’s a parasite. Clinging onto my daughter for a tas