Lyra's heart pounded as her father's words hung in the air. Percival Covington. The name from her marriage certificate—the man she'd supposedly married—was coming here. Today.
"Percival Covington? The head of Covington Group?" Orla's voice rose with excitement. "Why would he attend my betrothal party?"
Lachlan nodded, his chest puffed with pride. "Jasper insisted his uncle make an appearance. It's unprecedented—Percival Covington never attends social functions."
Lyra stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the marriage certificate still clutched in Colette's hands. The woman hadn't even glanced at it yet, too distracted by Lachlan's news.
"Percival Covington?" Colette's eyes widened. "The youngest CEO of Oceanion's largest conglomerate? The man who overthrew his father and brother to take control of the company?"
Lachlan frowned at her dramatic reaction. "Keep your voice down. Yes, that Percival Covington. His presence is a tremendous honor. The man is worth billions and controls half the economy in Oceanion."
Lyra's mind raced. How could she be married to someone so powerful? A man she'd never even met? It had to be a mistake. Or worse—a trap.
Orla clapped her hands together. "This is perfect! If Percival Covington approves of our match, Jasper will surely rise within the Covington Group. I could be the wife of a future CEO!"
While they excitedly discussed the implications, Colette finally looked down at the marriage certificate in her hands. Her face drained of color.
"No," she whispered, her fingers trembling against the paper.
Lyra watched as Colette's eyes darted between the certificate and her. Something shifted in the older woman's expression—beyond shock, beyond anger. It was fear.
Without warning, Colette crumpled the paper and shoved it into her pocket. "This is clearly a fake," she announced loudly. "Lyra's lying about being married. She's just trying to ruin Orla's special day."
"What?" Lyra stepped forward. "Give that back—"
Lachlan waved his hand dismissively. "Enough of this nonsense. Lyra, make yourself useful and help your sister prepare. And for God's sake, change into something appropriate. Percival Covington will be here in an hour."
He left the room, leaving Lyra staring at Colette's pocket where her only proof now lay hidden.
"Mother," Orla whined, "I need someone to fix my hair. The stylist left early."
Colette grabbed Lyra's arm, her nails digging into soft flesh. "Help your sister," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "And forget about that certificate. If you cause any trouble tonight, I'll make you regret it."
The look in her eyes made Lyra's skin crawl. There was something more here—something beyond Colette's usual cruelty.
As Lyra reluctantly helped Orla with her hair, a memory surfaced from her childhood. She was five years old, hiding behind a door as Colette argued with someone on the phone.
"They'll never know," Colette had said, her voice triumphant. "The switch was perfect. My daughter will have everything, while that woman's child gets nothing."
The memory had haunted Lyra for years. She'd dismissed it as childish misunderstanding, but now...
"Ow! You're pulling too hard!" Orla complained, jerking her head away.
"Sorry," Lyra murmured, her mind elsewhere.
The betrothal party transformed the Moreau mansion into a glittering wonderland. Crystal chandeliers threw rainbow light across marble floors. Champagne flowed freely as Oceanion's elite gathered to witness the union of two prestigious families.
Lyra, now dressed in a simple blue dress she'd brought in her bag, stood in a corner watching. Her eyes sought the familiar figure of Mrs. Moreau—Eleanor Croft—the kind woman who had treated her with rare kindness throughout her childhood.
She spotted her sitting on a plush sofa, looking frail but elegant in a pearl-gray gown. Despite her illness, Eleanor Croft maintained a dignity that Lyra had always admired. Their eyes met across the room, and Mrs. Moreau offered a small smile.
A memory surfaced—of nights when Colette would lock Lyra in her room without dinner. How Mrs. Moreau would sneak small plates of food to her door. "I can't stand up to them," she'd whispered once. "But I won't let you starve."
Those secret meals had saved Lyra's life. They were the only reason she'd stayed in that house until she was sixteen, enduring Colette's cruelty.
A commotion at the entrance drew everyone's attention. The Covingtons had arrived.
Jasper entered first, handsome in his tailored suit. Behind him walked an older couple—his parents, Lyra presumed. And then...
Percival Covington.
Tall and imposing, he commanded attention without effort. His sharp features matched the photograph on the certificate, but in person, he radiated a cold power that made her breath catch. His dark eyes surveyed the room with detached interest, like a predator assessing prey.
When his gaze swept past her, Lyra felt a chill run down her spine. Did he recognize her? There was no flicker of acknowledgment in his expression.
Orla rushed forward to greet Jasper, her face glowing with practiced adoration. Jasper kissed her cheek before turning to introduce his uncle.
"Uncle Percival, this is my fiancée, Orla Moreau."
Percival Covington nodded politely but didn't smile. "Congratulations."
Those two words, spoken in his deep voice, carried no warmth. His eyes moved past Orla as if she were insignificant.
Lyra watched the exchange from her corner, analyzing every detail. If this man was indeed her legal husband, why would he act like a stranger? What game was he playing?
"There you are!" Colette's sharp whisper made Lyra turn. "Go to the kitchen and help bring out more champagne. Make yourself useful."
"I'm a guest, not staff," Lyra replied evenly.
Colette's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You'll do as I say or—"
"Or what? You'll reveal that I'm supposedly married to Percival Covington? That might be an interesting conversation."
Colette blanched. "Keep your voice down! You don't know what you're talking about. That certificate is clearly a forgery."
"Then give it back to me," Lyra challenged.
"You ungrateful little—" Colette hissed, grabbing Lyra's wrist. "I've suffered for twenty-five years, raising you as my own. The least you could do is obey me for one night."
Something in her phrasing caught Lyra's attention. Raising you as my own. The strange memory from childhood echoed in her mind again. The switch was perfect.
Before she could respond, Colette pushed her toward the kitchen door. "Go. Now. Stay out of sight."
But as Lyra moved through the crowd, she caught Percival Covington stepping onto a balcony, phone pressed to his ear. His expression was hard, focused.
This was her chance. With determination in every step, Lyra followed him.
The night air was cool on her skin as she stepped onto the balcony. Percival Covington stood with his back to her, his voice low and commanding as he spoke into his phone.
"I don't care what it takes. Find out who's behind this and shut them down. Immediately." He ended the call and turned, his cold gaze landing directly on Lyra.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other—predator and prey, though Lyra wasn't sure which was which.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Can I help you?"
There was no recognition in his voice. None at all.
Lyra took a deep breath. It was now or never. With a tentative smile, she stepped closer and softly said one word:
"Honey?"