Chapter Fourteen

THE PARTY

Lyra sat stiffly at the dining table, staring down at the elaborate spread of food. She wasn’t hungry, not with Ryker seated across from her.

His calm, organized manners were enraging, especially after last night. She could still feel the phantom touch of his hands on her skin, his words replaying in her head like a taunt she couldn’t escape.

Ryker’s voice broke the tense silence. “We’ll leave for the party at eight. I expect you to be ready.”

Her head snapped up, her frustration bubbling over. “I’m not going.”

He didn’t even look up from his plate as he cut into his omelet. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” Her voice was firm, her hands clenched into fists on the table. “I don’t care what kind of spectacle you’re trying to make, but I’m not going to be part of it.”

Ryker finally met her gaze, his expression unreadable. He set his knife and fork down with deliberate precision, his movements calm—too calm.

“This isn’t a discussion, Jane.”

Her jaw tightened. “I don’t care. You can’t just decide what I do like I’m some accessory you can parade around.”

“I can and I will.” His tone was clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “This party is important, and you will be there by my side. End of story.”

She scoffed, shoving her chair back as she stood. “You don’t even listen to me, do you? You just dictate everything and expect me to fall in line like some obedient puppet. Well, I’m not going to play your game, Ryker.”

Ryker pushed his chair back as well, standing slowly.

He loomed over her, his presence as commanding as ever, but there was a dangerous edge to his expression now. “Careful, Jane,” he said, his voice low.

“You’re starting to sound like you want to fight me. And trust me, that’s a battle you won’t win.”

Her frustration boiled over. “You think you can control everything, but you can’t control me. I’m not some pawn in your game.”

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile.

“You’ve said that before, but here you are. In my house, under my roof, and bound to my rules. You might not like it, but you are mine, Jane. And tonight, you will act like it.”

She took a step back, her breath hitching. “You’re insane,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Ryker tilted his head, his gaze softening just enough to make her pulse quicken differently. “Insane or not, I always get what I want. And what I want right now is you at that party. So stop fighting me and accept it.”

“I won’t,” she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

His smirk deepened, and he stepped closer, the air between them crackling with tension. “You will. Because deep down, you know you don’t have a choice. And maybe,” his voice dropped lower, “a part of you likes it.”

Her heart pounded a mix of anger and something she couldn’t name coursing through her. “You’re crazy.”

He leaned down slightly, his voice a whisper. “Am I? Then why haven’t you walked away yet?”

Her breath caught, but she refused to let him see her falter. She took another step back, her hands trembling with a mix of frustration and the confusing pull he always seemed to have on her.

“I’ll never give you what you want,” she said, her voice shaky but defiant.

Ryker straightened, his smirk fading into something colder, more calculating. “You already are,” he said simply.

Then, with a nod toward the staff hovering at the edge of the room, he added, “Someone will be here in an hour to get you ready. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving her standing there, her frustration simmering.

“I won’t let him control me. He can force me to go, but I’ll find a way to escape this. Somehow.”

**********************************

Lyra came down the staircase, gripping the railing tighter than necessary. Her dress shimmered under the chandelier’s light, and each step felt heavier than the last. She could feel the weight of Ryker’s gaze before she even reached the bottom.

As she stepped into view, the beauticians’ earlier words echoed in her mind: “You’re making your husband breathless.”

Her husband.

The term felt foreign, even ridiculous. She glanced at Ryker, and for a moment, her breath caught. His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes betrayed him—dark, intense, and entirely focused on her.

When she reached the bottom, he stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. A velvet box rested in his hand.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low, barely audible.

She didn’t respond, unsure if she could trust her voice. Instead, she kept her expression neutral, though the sadness simmering inside her refused to be ignored.

Ryker opened the box, revealing a diamond necklace. Without asking, he stepped behind her and fastened it around her neck. His fingers brushed her skin lightly, making her shiver.

“You shouldn’t have,” she murmured, her tone distant.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his voice closer now. She felt his lips brush against the curve of her neck in a feather-light kiss.

Lyra flinched, her reaction immediate. She stepped back, clutching the necklace instinctively. Her startled gaze met his, but Ryker’s expression didn’t waver.

“It suits you,” he said, his tone steady but his eyes sharp. “Don’t take it off.”

She gave a stiff nod, retreating inward. She had to remind herself of the truth: she wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t real. And if Ryker found out the truth…

Lyra straightened, swallowing the rising lump in her throat. She had to escape before he uncovered her secret.

The ballroom sparkled with gold and silver. People chatted softly and clinked their glasses. Lyra moved through the crowd, giving polite smiles and nods. The grandeur of the event made her feel even more uncomfortable.

Ryker was never far from her line of sight. He spoke with various guests, his commanding presence impossible to miss. Yet, every few moments, his eyes would find hers.

She could feel his attention even when he wasn’t standing next to her, like an invisible tether binding her to him.

Lyra’s boredom turned to mild annoyance until a man approached her.

He oozed a confidence that made the air around him shift. His dark suit and sharp features stood out, but it was his piercing gaze that disturbed her.

“You must be Jane,” he said, extending his hand with a practiced smile. His tone was smooth, almost too smooth.

She took his hand cautiously. “And you are?”

“Marcus Kane,” he said, watching her carefully. “Ryker’s… rival, I suppose you’d say.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Interesting introduction.”

Marcus chuckled, his amusement genuine. “I like to be honest, even if it’s inconvenient.”

She smiled faintly, unsure of how to respond. Marcus’s charm was polished, but there was something beneath the surface—something calculating.

They spoke for a few moments, and to her surprise, Marcus made her laugh. It wasn’t forced or polite; it was genuine. The sound startled even her.

Across the room, Ryker’s jaw tightened.

His grip on his glass firmed as he watched the interaction. Marcus leaning too close, Lyra laughing—it was enraging. Ryker’s gaze darkened with barely concealed jealousy.

Ryker crossed the room, his every step deliberate. When he reached them, Marcus straightened, his smile growing wider, almost daring.

“Ryker,” Marcus greeted, raising his glass mockingly. “I was just getting to know your wife. She’s… intriguing.”

“Marcus,” Ryker replied, his tone cool but with an edge. “I see you’ve found a way to insert yourself where you’re not wanted.”

Marcus smirked. “You know me—I have a knack for that.”

Ryker ignored him and turned to Lyra. “Jane, we need to talk.”

Lyra hesitated, glancing between the two men. She felt a sharp tension in the air, making her nervous.

“I’ll be back,” she said to Marcus, who gave her an exaggerated wink as she followed Ryker out of the main room.

Ryker stopped near a quiet alcove, turning to face her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with restrained anger.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but intense.

“What was what?” Lyra folded her arms defensively.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he said, stepping closer. “Marcus Kane is not someone you entertain.”

“I wasn’t entertaining him,” she said sharply. “I was being polite.”

Ryker’s eyes narrowed. “Polite?” he repeated. “Polite doesn’t mean smiling at him like that. Or laughing.”

“Maybe you should stop trying to control every move I make,” Lyra snapped, her frustration boiling over.

Ryker’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t about control, Jane. It’s about safety. Marcus Kane isn’t a harmless guest—he’s dangerous. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“Maybe I don’t,” she countered. “But that doesn’t mean I need you dictating who I can and can’t talk to.”

His hand shot out, gripping her arm—not painfully, but firm enough to make her stop. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

“You’re mine,” he said, his tone dark and possessive. “And I don’t like sharing.”

Lyra’s breath caught, her heart pounding. She yanked her arm free, glaring at him. “I’m not a possession, Ryker. You don’t own me.”

His lips curled into a cold smile. “We’ll see about that.”

Later, Lyra found herself near the balcony, the cool night air a welcome redemption from the heat of the ballroom. Marcus appeared beside her, his approach so quiet it startled her.

“You should be careful with Ryker,” he said, his tone softer now.

Lyra frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Marcus glanced around, ensuring no one was close enough to overhear. “He’s not who you think he is. Ryker Blackwoods has secrets, and trust me, you don’t want to be caught in the middle when they come to light.”

Lyra stiffened. “I think I can take care of myself.”

Marcus smirked, his gaze steady. “I’m sure you can. But if you ever change your mind—if you ever want out—you know where to find me.”

Before she could respond, Marcus stepped back into the crowd, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

When she returned to the ballroom, her eyes instinctively found Ryker. He was watching her, his gaze as intense as ever.

Lyra shivered. This game she was playing felt more dangerous than ever.