Chapter 1
Lyra pov,
The penthouse is quiet. Golden hour light filters in through the wide glass windows. Lyra steps inside, grocery bags in hand, humming softly. She kicks off her shoes, the scent of basil and garlic already teasing her imagination.
She calls out:
“Kieran? I’m home!” she announces loudly
No answer. She frowns, setting the bags down on the marble counter. Everything is pristine, untouched, sterile like always.
Except for the faint sound of running water, he’s probably showering.
As she moves to the kitchen, something catches her eye on his phone, left carelessly on the console table. She pauses, curious, but brushes it off.
“Workaholic.” She chuckles softly.
She walks past it… but then it lights up.
Message from: Amara Wren
“Can’t wait to have you all to myself this weekend. Just us. Like always.”
Lyra freezes.
Just us.
This weekend.
Her heart drops. She stares at the phone, the words echoing. Kieran had said he was flying out tomorrow for business. A tech convention in Geneva. She even helped design the prototype he planned to present.
She doesn’t touch the phone. Don't unlock it. She just stands there.
A beat of silence.
Then she blinks away the blur in her eyes, straightening her shoulders, and moves to unpack the groceries.
Tonight, she would still make dinner. His favourite. Like she always did.
Because maybe, just maybe… he’d walk through that door and say it was all a misunderstanding.
The clinking of cutlery and the faint bubbling of the sauce on the stove fill the silence. Lyra sets the table with practised grace, her mind far from motion.
Then, footsteps.
“Mmm, something smells incredible.” He says
She turns just as he walks in, damp hair tousled, a fresh white shirt clinging to his toned frame. He leans in and kisses her cheek like nothing in the world is wrong.
Like he hadn’t just promised someone else a weekend alone.
“You were in the shower?” she says, smiling faintly
“Yeah. Didn’t hear you come in. You’re spoiling me again, aren’t you?” he says, smiling at her sweet
She forces a soft laugh and turns back to the stove.
“Maybe I just missed you.” She said with a forced smile
They sit. The food is warm and comforting. His favourite.
Halfway through the meal, she looks up, voice casual.
“So… about the convention tomorrow.” She says
He pauses, mid-chew.
“I was thinking… Maybe I could come with you. I could help with the presentation. You know the project like I do.” She said softly
His fork lingers in the air. There’s a flicker in his eyes—brief, but enough.
“That’s sweet, but it’s just a quick trip. Meetings back to back. You’d be bored.” He says, smiling quickly
“I wouldn’t mind.” She says, waiting eagerly for his answer.
“Next time, okay? Promise.” He says, avoiding her eyes
She nods, eyes dropping back to her plate.
But something in her heart clenches.
He lied. And now he’s lying again. And she knows it.
Dinner ends in a quiet, aching silence.
Kieran reaches for the plates without being asked—something he rarely does—and carries them to the sink. Lyra follows, rolling up her sleeves, but her movements are stiff and mechanical.
They wash the dishes side by side. Water runs. Plates clink. But there’s a weight in the air that neither of them addresses.
Until he finally breaks the silence.
“Hey... you’ve been quiet tonight.” He says, looking at her with concern.
She doesn’t look at him.
“Something happened with your day?” He asked
“No. I’m just tired.” She answers weakly
He dries a plate
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” he says, nudging her playfully.
Still, no eye contact. It’s just a soft shrug.
“Look, I know things have been… busy. And I hate that I’ve been away so much. But when I get back, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you something, anything you want.” He says, trying to pacify her
“ Anything?”she repeats, almost whispering.
He smiles, relieved that she’s speaking again.
“Anything.” He repeats
She finally meets his eyes for a brief moment. There’s something unreadable in her gaze.
“Alright.”
And then, without another word, she dries her hands and walks away, leaving him standing in the kitchen.
“Lyra?” Kieran calls out my name .
She doesn’t turn or stops
“I’m going to shower.” She says softly but loud enough for him to hear.
And she disappeared down the hallway, closing the room door gently but firm.
The bathroom fills with steam, the soft hiss of water echoing against the marble tiles. Lyra stands under the stream, fully still, arms wrapped around herself.
Water pours down her face, mingling with the tears she refuses to acknowledge.
She doesn’t sob. She doesn’t break down loud or wild.
She just stands there, letting it all fall—quiet, trembling, contained.
The kind of pain that’s too deep for sound.
