Lyra stepped fully into the pavilion, her gaze shifting between Orla's panicked face and Malachi's calculating smile.
"I asked you a question," she said coldly. "What truth are you keeping from me?"
Orla recovered quickly, crossing her arms. "This is private. You have no right to spy on us."
"Actually, I do." Lyra's voice remained level. "This is still technically my father's property. And you're discussing me."
Malachi Blackwood leaned against a pillar, seemingly entertained by the tension between the two women. His resemblance to Colette was striking—the same shrewd eyes, the same predatory smile.
"My dear nieces," he said smoothly. "Family squabbles are so tedious."
"We're not family," Orla snapped.
Malachi's eyebrow rose. "Aren't you? That's part of the interesting truth we were discussing."
Lyra turned her full attention to him. "How much?"
"Excuse me?" Malachi's smile widened.
"How much for the truth?" Lyra clarified, pulling out her phone. "Name your price."
