Chapter 8

Lyra’s POV

The moment he spoke, relief washed over me. “Alright, wife—I’ll have a room prepared for you.” His tone was casual, almost teasing, yet the promise sounded genuine. I glanced up, surprised he’d agreed so readily. The late-afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, casting soft shadows across the plush carpet and dark leather sofas. He stood by the doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored trousers, looking every bit the composed businessman I’d heard so much about. My heart fluttered.

“Thank you,” I murmured, standing to meet his gaze. My voice sounded small in the spacious room, but I meant it. He nodded once, turned toward the door, and—just as his fingers curled around the polished brass knob—paused. He pivoted back to face me, lips curved in a thoughtful half-smile.

“Tell me,” he said, his expression gentle, “what’s your favorite color?”

Caught off guard, I hesitated. “Dark purple,” I replied finally, surprised at my