The sunlight was merciless.
It cut through the curtains, spilling over the tangled sheets, over the curve of my bare shoulder, over the man lying beside me like a sin I couldn't erase.
Adrian.
The name alone was enough to send my pulse racing. But as the haze of the night dissolved, reality came crashing in, jagged and cold.
We hadn't just crossed a line—we had obliterated it.
And worse… people had seen.
I sat up slowly, clutching the sheets to my chest, my head pounding with more than exhaustion. A memory flickered—Clara's eyes narrowing, the sharp gasp from the servant in the hall, whispers that had followed us like smoke.
By now, the entire house would know. By noon, the city.
"Running away again?" His voice was low, still thick from sleep, but when I turned, his gaze was awake—burning, unreadable.
I swallowed hard. "Do you even care?"
Adrian sat up, the sheet falling from his chest. My breath caught despite myself, but I forced my eyes away. Forced myself to remember his words from two nights ago. She's no one.
"Care?" His jaw tightened. "I care too much. That's the problem."
I laughed bitterly, pressing my palms to my temples. "Don't lie to me, Adrian. Not after you humiliated me—called me no one like I was dirt beneath your shoes. Do you know what people are saying right now? About me? About us?"
His silence was answer enough.
I stood, pulling my dress from the floor and clutching it to my chest. My hands shook, but I refused to let him see it. "I'm the maid who spread her legs for her master. The nameless girl who thought she could matter to a man like you. That's all they'll ever see now."
Adrian was on his feet in an instant, his hand closing around my arm before I could step away. His grip wasn't cruel, but it was unyielding, desperate.
"Look at me," he demanded.
I did—and for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. Not of scandal. Not of Clara. But of me slipping through his fingers.
"I don't care what they say," he said, his voice hoarse. "You're not no one, Lyra. You're—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching like the words were too dangerous to release.
The silence between us was suffocating.
I tore my arm free, my chest heaving. "If you can't even say it, then don't pretend. Because last night may have felt like everything, but today…" My throat closed, but I forced the words out. "Today, it feels like nothing but ashes."
I slipped into my dress with shaking hands, not waiting for him to answer. Not trusting myself to stay if he tried to stop me again.
Because if he called me back—if he said the one thing I was dying to hear—I knew I would break all over again.
And I didn't know if I could survive it this time.
The corridors were too quiet when I slipped out of his room. Too still, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Every footstep felt like a scream, echoing against marble and gilt. My skin burned, not just from his touch but from the weight of unseen eyes. I could feel them—maids who had passed in the night, guards who'd turned their faces away, servants who now carried my secret like poisoned fruit.
The whispers had already begun.
I clutched the railing as I descended the staircase, my knees threatening to give. The grand chandelier overhead blazed with cruel clarity, throwing light on my wrinkled dress, my swollen lips, the telltale shadows beneath my eyes.
I looked like what they thought I was. A maid who'd given herself to the master. A scandal dressed in yesterday's shame.
"Lyra."
The sound of my name made me freeze.
Adrian's voice—commanding, magnetic, and raw. He had followed me.
I turned slowly, every part of me trembling. He was at the top of the staircase, bare-chested, careless of the world that could see him like this. His hair was mussed, his eyes dark, his expression a storm.
For a moment, I almost faltered. Almost ran back up to him.
But then Clara stepped into the hall.
Her gown was flawless, her smile sharpened to a blade. The hush that fell over the servants was deafening.
"Well," she purred, her eyes sweeping over me like I was filth staining her marble floor. "What a sight. The maid, sneaking out of her master's chambers at dawn."
My stomach plummeted.
Adrian's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Nothing.
Clara's laughter rang, high and cruel. "Did you tell her what she really is, Adrian? Or should I?" She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "She's no one. And that's all she'll ever be."
The words sliced through me, sharper than any knife.
Adrian took one step forward, fury flashing in his eyes, but I didn't stay to see what he would do.
Because my body was already moving—rushing past Clara, past the whispers, past the shame.
Running.
Running before I shattered completely in front of them all.