Chapter 95

Lyra

Alright, let’s get something straight because I know some of y’all are out there absolutely foaming at the mouth, ready to drag me by my hair through the comments like, “Lyra, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

And you know what? That’s fair.

Because yes. Yes, I did it.

I told Damon—while his cock was still buried inside me, while my legs were trembling and my pussy was still spasming from the kind of orgasm that rewires your brainstem—I told that man, let’s go check on Camilla.

I know. I deserve jail. Maybe a slap. Maybe a whole trial by fire. But before you light your pitchforks and scream betrayal, let me explain.

First of all, I hate Camilla. Not a little. Not in a “she’s annoying” kind of way. I hate her like my soul recognizes her as its personal enemy.

She’s fake. She’s evil. She’s every terrible female villain trope combined and shoved into a painfully skinny body with a designer bag and zero morals.

So do I w