Chapter two

CHAPTER TWO

ENTERING THE LION’S DEN.

The leather chair creaked faintly as Lyra shifted nervously. Across the sleek mahogany desk sat Mr. Wallace, Jane’s family lawyer, his sharp features framed by glasses that gleamed under the soft overhead lighting.

The office was intimidatingly pristine, the kind of place where everything screamed wealth and power. Lyra felt entirely out of place like a kid pretending to play grown-up in someone else’s world.

Mr. Wallace glanced up from the stack of papers, his stern expression giving away nothing. “Miss McCormick,” he said, addressing her with Jane’s surname.

“As we finalize this arrangement, I must remind you of the confidentiality clause. Breaching it will result in significant legal repercussions.”

Lyra swallowed hard, her palms damp against the cool surface of the desk. “Understood,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Good.” He slid the marriage certificate toward her, along with an expensive gold pen. “Sign here. And here. Initial on the bottom of this page.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the pen. The weight of what she was about to do pressed down on her like a heavy stone.

Lyra stared at the bold letters at the top of the document: “Marriage Certificate”. Beside her, the name “Ryker Blackwoods” was scrawled in confident, clean handwriting.

“This isn’t real. This is just a piece of paper.”

But it ‘was’ real. Every stroke of the pen made it more real.

When she finished signing, Mr. Wallace neatly gathered the papers, tapping them into a precise stack. “Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwoods,” he said without the slightest hint of warmth.

Lyra’s stomach twisted. “Thanks,” she replied hollowly.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses. “Remember, this is a business arrangement. Mr. Blackwoods has little interest in traditional marriage dynamics. Your role is clear, and I trust you’ll respect the boundaries outlined in the agreement.”

Lyra nodded, though she felt anything but confident.

As Mr. Wallace rose and extended a hand, she shook it briefly, her grip weak. The deal was done. There was no turning back now.

“This wasn’t a wedding. It was a business deal with my name stamped in ink. For a billionaire, Ryker Blackwoods had a strange way of handling something so personal. Or maybe that’s what money does—it makes everything feel... empty.”

The car ride to the estate felt endless, the silence broken only by the occasional hum of the engine. Lyra stared out the window as the city skyline faded into rolling hills and dense woods.

The further they drove, the more isolated she felt, as if she were being transported into another world entirely.

When the gates of the Blackwoods estate loomed into view, Lyra’s breath caught. They were massive, wrought iron, and intricate, opening slowly as the car approached.

Beyond them lay a long, winding driveway that seemed to stretch for miles, flanked by towering trees that whispered in the breeze.

Finally, the car pulled up to the main house—or rather, the mansion. No, not even a mansion—a fortress.

The estate was cold and modern, all sharp lines and dark glass. It stood in stark contrast to the sprawling green landscape surrounding it as if it had been deliberately designed to defy its environment.

Lyra felt even smaller than she had in the lawyer’s office.

The driver opened her door, and she stepped out hesitantly, her heels clicking against the stone driveway.

A tall, no-nonsense woman stood at the entrance, her posture strict and her gaze assessing. She was dressed impeccably in black, her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a bun.

“You must be Mrs. Blackwoods,” the woman said, her tone polite but cool. “I’m Mrs. Hargrave, the housekeeper. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Lyra replied, her voice betraying her nerves.

Mrs. Hargrave gestured for her to follow, and Lyra obeyed, clutching her bag tightly. As they stepped inside, Lyra’s eyes widened at the sheer scale of the interior.

The entryway alone was larger than her entire apartment. Marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of chandelier lights, and abstract art lined the walls in a way that was more intimidating than inviting.

The air was eerily still, as though the house itself were holding its breath.

“This way,” Mrs. Hargrave said, leading her up a sweeping staircase. “Your room has been prepared.”

The bedroom she was shown was lavish, with a king-sized bed, silk sheets, and a view of the expansive gardens outside. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like hers.

Nothing here did.

As Mrs. Hargrave opened the closet to show her the wardrobe, Lyra caught a glimpse of tailored clothing, all in muted, sophisticated tones.

She wondered if they belonged to Jane—or if Ryker had them selected for his bride without knowing who she was.

“Mr. Blackwoods is currently away,” Mrs. Hargrave said, her tone clipped. “But he values discipline and order above all else. I suggest you keep that in mind while you’re here.”

Lyra nodded, forcing a small smile. “Of course.”

Mrs. Hargrave lingered for a moment, her sharp eyes studying Lyra as though searching for cracks in her facade. Then, with a curt nod, she left, leaving Lyra alone in the large room.

“This isn’t my life. This is Jane’s life. I don’t belong here.”

Lyra sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror across the room.

The woman staring back looked like a stranger—a woman wearing borrowed clothes and a borrowed identity.

Lyra spent the rest of the day cautiously exploring the estate. She moved quietly through the halls, her footsteps muffled by the thick rugs.

The house was a labyrinth of rooms, each one more extravagant than the last. There was a grand library with floor-to-ceiling shelves, a sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen, and a private gym that looked more like a luxury spa.

Despite the opulence, the house felt… empty.

She found small traces of Ryker’s presence as she wandered. A jacket draped over the back of a chair. A half-empty glass of whiskey was left on a side table.

A pile of books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table in what appeared to be a sitting room.

“For someone so rich, he doesn’t seem to care much about appearances,” Lyra thought, surprised by the practicality of his belongings.

At the end of one hallway, she came across a door that was locked. Unlike the other rooms, which were open and inviting (if detached), this one seemed off-limits.

She reached for the handle, curiosity bubbling in her chest, but before she could turn it, a voice rang out behind her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Lyra spun around to see Mrs. Hargrave standing at the other end of the hall, her expression unreadable.

“That’s Mr. Blackwoods’ private office,” she said, her tone stern. “It’s not a place for you.”

Lyra flushed, stepping back from the door. “I wasn’t—I was just—”

“Exploring, I’m sure,” Mrs. Hargrave interrupted. “But I suggest you stay out of things you don’t understand, Mrs. Blackwoods.”

The warning hung in the air as Mrs. Hargrave walked away, leaving Lyra feeling both embarrassed and uneasy.

As night fell, Lyra sat by the window in her bedroom, staring out at the darkened gardens. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that amplified every creak and whisper of wind.

She tried to remind herself why she was here—why she’d agreed to this insanity in the first place. The money. The chance to escape her old life.

But as she sat there, surrounded by luxury that felt more like a prison than a gift, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d made a terrible mistake.

“This isn’t freedom,” she thought. “It’s just another kind of cage.”

With a sigh, she climbed into bed, pulling the silk sheets up to her chin. She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with questions about the man she’d married—Ryker Blackwoods.

Who was he? And what would happen when he came home?