Chapter 2 2

~ LYRA ~

The priest voice was a low, steady drone, like a boring motor running too far away to matter. I leaned into my brother, letting the solidness of his shoulder be the only thing holding me upright.

The wind gusted, whipping the ends of my veil across my mouth. It tasted like dust and cheap wool. I wished it would blow harder, flatten me, rip the black dress right off and expose the lie of my composure.

It was Papa's funeral, the day he was finally going to be laid to rest. I should be weeping, convulsing, tearing my hair for Papa. Instead, I'm just... cold. And the cold wasn't the air's fault. It was the glacier of disbelief that formed in my chest from yesterday which was my anniversary.

Thank God for Michael, who bailed me out from the bar. If not, I would have drunk myself to a stupor after such a horrible scene.

The gathering was full, everyone was present yet it felt incomplete, my eyes kept on hovering each moment hoping to see Lucian in the crowd. He was supposed to be standing next to me, but he is nowhere to be found.

I had already given up, when I noticed a ripple in the back of the crowd. A sudden, noticeable shift. Whispers began to spread, hushed at first, then growing bolder.

Heads turned, and a few people even craned their necks to get a better look. My gaze followed theirs, curiosity warring with a growing sense of dread.

My breath hitched at the sight of Lucian, and walking next to him was my so-called best friend, Aryan. They looked like a nearly wedded couple on their way to a honeymoon. The sight made my heart give a painful lurch, a mixture of anger and utter confusion.

Why was he here late? Why is she still with him? Was he really serious about yesterday? I still chose not to believe it, but seeing them felt as if the floor had suddenly dissolved, leaving my stomach to lurch into a cold, empty void. The air in my lungs turned to lead, heavy, unbreathable, and stagnant. I stood boiling in rage, holding myself back from walking up to them and causing a scene.

Soon the funeral ended in a blur, and right when. Lucian was about to slip away with Aryan, I hurriedly confronted them knowing fully well that I couldn't let it go.

"Lucian, why did you come here late? " I choked at him right when he was about to get into his car.

"What do you want, Lyra?" His tone was flat, chilling.

My anger flared. "What do I want? What was that, Lucian? Where have you been since all this while I have been calling your line yet you chose to ignore my calls? And now showing up late, to Papa's funeral, with Aryan. What were you thinking?" My voice trembled.

He sighed. "It doesn't matter, the last time I checked the old man is late and takes no note of time anymore..and also about Aryan she is the only lady I see who is worth me." He added.

"It doesn't matter?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. "Papa's funeral doesn't matter? What's gotten into you Lucian?" I asked, gazing at him.

He finally met my gaze, a cold resolve in his eyes as he stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Lyra just like I have said before, I want a divorce. I'm not in this marriage anymore."

'Divorce?' The world tilted. "Don't tell me you are seriously believing those pictures from yesterday?"

I stared at him, shattered, tears streaming. "No," I whispered, broken. "No. You can't be serious. This can't be happening. Not now. How could you even... how could you bring this up today?"

"We just laid Papa to rest, Lucian! All this can wait, please, let's talk this out. Whatever is going on, we can solve this together. Just the two of us." I pleaded with him. My voice was barely a whisper, alien even to my own ears, like my whole world was just, you know, falling apart right there and then.

He was being deceived by the woman I called my best friend, the woman I confided in, and I wasn't going to back down without a fight. I wasn't going to let my marriage go down the drain, because of Aryan's jealousy and evil.

"I've wasted enough time on you. Don't come near my house again. My lawyer is already drafting the papers; expect them by the end of the week." His gaze curdled with a disgust so visible it made my heart recoil.

"But I'm carrying your baby, two weeks already." I said, even though I knew it wasn't the right time to drop that news.

His expression didn't change, but his eyes seemed to flicker with a hint of surprise before hardening again

"Pregnant...so you think I would believe that?" he said coldly. "You and I know that child is not mine, so you'd better take the bastard child to the rightful owner."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I had expected.. Some spark of compassion? A glimmer of responsibility? But his reaction was ice cold, and it terrified me.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "This is our child we're talking about. Our baby."

"You're making a mistake, Lucian. Don't

let Aryan's lies ruin three years of what we've built with each other. You're letting her ruin our marriage."

"Please, you're not like this. You know me. You know the truth. You've seen me through the good times and bad. You've shared every part of yourself with me, don't let her ruin everything we've worked so hard for. Please, believe me."

I begged, holding his hands in mine, but he

ripped them out of my grasp.

"You think begging is going to get you anywhere? Well, guess what, it won't. The sooner you accept the fact that you've lost, the better for both of us." He stated.

"But Lucian, the baby," I began, heart pounding.

"I don't care what you do with it. Get rid of it. That child isn't mine," he snapped, sliding into his car and slamming the door, leaving me hanging.

"Please, Lucian, don't, I'm the woman you love, the woman you married," I pleaded, lunging after him. A searing pain ripped through my stomach, and I felt myself splinter like glass.

My knees gave way. One moment I was standing; the next I was a crumpled heap on the cold floor, the sting of the grass grounding me in a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

A faint, familiar voice cut through the haze. "Sis...?" My brother Michael's face swam into view, eyes wide with panic, his hand hovering near my shoulder as if afraid to touch me. Behind him, my mother's voice, distant yet urgent, called my name, pulling me toward something I could no longer see.

The world narrowed to a single, blinding point of darkness. The murmurs from the crowd grew louder, a frantic rhythm that matched the storm inside me.

Then everything went black.