I didn't remember pulling on my clothes. Didn't remember pushing past Clara's smug silhouette or the way Adrian's hand twitched like he might reach for me—but didn't.
All I remembered was running.
The corridor blurred, tears streaming hot down my face. My chest burned, each breath ragged, but I couldn't stop. If I stopped, I'd crumble. If I crumbled, I'd never get back up again.
His words echoed in my skull—She's no one.
I had been foolish enough to believe I mattered. Foolish enough to give him my body, my heart, my everything. And he had crushed it with a single sentence.
By the time I reached the street, the night air was damp and heavy. I pressed my back against the brick wall, sliding down until my knees hit the ground. My sobs were silent, violent, shaking me until I thought I might shatter.
I wrapped my arms around myself, desperate to hold the pieces together. But they were slipping, one by one.
---
Upstairs, Adrian stood frozen in the aftermath. Clara was still by his side, her voice like poisoned honey.
"She'll be fine," Clara murmured, resting her manicured hand on his arm. "She'll learn her place. And you'll thank me later for ripping off the bandage."
But Adrian couldn't move. His chest was tight, his throat raw. The look on Lyra's face—betrayal, devastation—it carved into him deeper than Clara's words ever could.
He had wanted to protect her by pushing her away. To shield her from the dangerous world he lived in, from the enemies circling closer every day. But instead, he had destroyed her.
And the truth hit him like a punch to the gut.
She wasn't no one.
She was everything.
He turned sharply, ripping Clara's hand from his arm.
"Don't ever speak for me again," he snapped, his voice low and lethal. Clara flinched, but her smile never faded.
Adrian didn't wait for her reply. He strode out, his pulse thundering, his only thought to find Lyra before the city swallowed her whole.
---
Lyra, meanwhile, forced herself to stand. She wiped at her tears with trembling fingers. She couldn't stay here. Couldn't wait for him to find her, not after he'd broken her so completely.
She needed to disappear.
And for the first time since meeting Adrian, she truly believed she could.
He had wanted to protect her by pushing her away. To shield her from the dangerous world he lived in, from the enemies circling closer every day. But instead, he had destroyed her.
And the truth hit him like a punch to the gut.
She wasn't no one.
She was everything.
He turned sharply, ripping Clara's hand from his arm.
"Don't ever speak for me again," he snapped, his voice low and lethal. Clara flinched, but her smile never faded.
"Be careful, Adrian," she purred. "Careful not to confuse lust with love. Because men like you don't get love. Not without blood on their hands."
Adrian didn't wait for her reply. He strode out, his pulse thundering, his only thought to find Lyra before the city swallowed her whole.
---
Lyra, meanwhile, forced herself to stand. She wiped at her tears with trembling fingers. She couldn't stay here. Couldn't wait for him to find her, not after he'd broken her so completely.
She needed to disappear.
But even as she stumbled down the street, a part of her ached—an ugly, desperate part—that whispered if he came now, if he pulled her into his arms and said she wasn't no one, she might still forgive him.
That was the cruelest fracture of all.
Because forgiveness was the one thing she no longer had to give.
And for the first time since meeting Adrian, she truly believed she could walk away.