Chapter 4 SAVING THE EMPIRE: LYRA'S THE SOLUTION

Ryan Blackwell's POV

Every business has its ups and downs; mine was no exception. It was cash rather than the lack of it. The Blackwell legacy was a name I built on silk scarves, Italian leather, and shiny tech gadgets. It was bleeding out right before my eyes. Years of hard work almost slipped from my hands like a hot batter on a sloppy pan. I had to do something. I couldn't have watched, letting my years of hard work sleep away.

And that's how I found myself on Ryda Morgan's doorstep. Ryda is a loan shark with a viper's charm and a guillotine's patience. I knew the risks. Everyone knew the risks. But who has options these days?

The answer to that, apparently, was not me.

It started as a trickle, a downturn here, a setback there. But the trickle turned into a flood, and I was drowning in debt by the time I noticed. The more I borrowed, the more I needed to keep my head above water. Ryda didn't care about my visions for Blackwell, my name, or my promises to repay every last cent; he just wanted his money and knew exactly how to squeeze it out of people.

As for Lyra? Lyra...God help me, Lyra. She was supposed to be my daughter. Well, technically, it's not my real daughter. Lizzy often reminded me of that, as if the constant reminder would somehow ease the guilt I felt. Lyra wasn't Blackwell's blood-no matter how much I wanted to believe she was. She was just a child left at my doorstep, whom no one knew where she hailed from till this day. And despite Lizzy's disapproval, I'd tried to be a father to her. I wanted to love her, so I adopted her and took good care of her.

But love's funny. It has a price tag when you're desperate. When Lizzy cornered me with her so-called "solution" to our financial black hole, I initially resisted. Even laughed in her face, how you laugh at the sheer audacity of someone suggesting you sell your soul.

"Lyra's the solution," she said coldly. If I could have laughed harder, I would have. "We can clear everything, Ryan. Just think about it. You're saving the empire."

I stared at her, hoping she'd laugh too, that she was playing some sick joke. But no. She was dead serious. Been serious.

"It's a simple deal," she said, in her slick voice like a coaxing whisper she used when she wanted her way. "We owe Ryda a debt, and this... girl... well, she can be part of the payment."

I looked at Lizzy, disappointed, feeling a crack in my chest. Lizzy knew my weaknesses, she always had-and she wasn't afraid to use them. Lyra wasn't her daughter. She didn't see her as anything other than a liability, something disposable, like a piece of designer clothing she didn't want anymore.

But I wasn't that heartless. Not at first.

Days after. Whenever I saw Lyra ignorantly relating to me as her loving father, I felt the weight of my choice. I wanted to tell her, to confess everything, but what was the point? I couldn't explain the burden of a crumbling empire or the hunger of a reputation clawing at my throat. She'd never understand.

And then the inevitable came. A month after Lizzy's little "suggestion," Ryda's goons, Kael and his puppets, came knocking, demanding payment. Ryda wanted collateral, something that screamed high stakes and irreplaceable. And somehow, Lyra fit the bill perfectly-an adopted daughter, expendable enough to be convenient but close enough to twist the knife. I decided once, without a second thought. I would lose everything if I didn't.

I didn't say goodbye. I didn't even look at Lyra as the men escorted her out of the Blackwell mansion like she was some prisoner. And even then, with her staring up at me, confused, hurt... I couldn't muster the courage to say anything. Instead, I turned away. Because it was easier to look at the polished floors and pretend she was a necessary casualty-a sacrifice for the "greater good" of the Blackwell name.

"Ryan, darling, it's done. We're safe now," Lizzy murmured. "You did what was needed."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to see myself as the hero who saved the family legacy, the visionary who saw beyond personal attachments. But the truth? I felt like a coward-a traitor. I sold Lyra out and traded her life for a false sense of security that was as brittle as Lizzy's forced smile.

Days after, Lizzy went on as if nothing had happened, rejoicing in the stability that sacrificing Lyra had bought us. I see her showing off in our social circles, telling stories of our "revived" empire, and playing the role of the gracious wife of the Blackwell legacy while I was haunted daily by the look Lyra gave me the day she was taken-the look that said she had trusted me, that she had never imagined I would betray her.

Every night, I drowned in whiskey as I replayed the same thoughts. If I had fought harder to resist Lizzy's advice and told Ryda to divert his demands somewhere else... things wouldn't have resolved to give out that innocent girl like she was some animal. What's a man's pride compared to his survival? What's one girl's life compared to an empire? That was the logic Lizzy spoon-fed me, and she repeated until I believed it.

Now, I'm in a prison I created, wondering if Ryda's hold on us is gone or if it's just around, waiting for the right moment to resurface. Those folks don't let go quickly. Ryda's promises are as slippery as the lies Lizzy spins. He doesn't have a history of allowing debtors to go completely; even when someone is being given to him as bait, he'll be back, ready to finish what he started. And I have no doubt he'll take everything I've worked for and sacrificed.

"Ryan, are you even listening?" Lizzy's voice slices through my thoughts like a razor. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, looking like the lady of the manor. She has that look in her eye again-the look that says she knows she has won, that I'm a puppet dancing on her strings.

"What do you want, Lizzy?" I mutter.

"I just thought you should know," she says with a smirk, "we've been invited to the Governor's Gala. Quite the honor. A Blackwell, back in the public eye."

I gave her a lifeless smile and forced a nod-the Governor's Gala. Of course. The final act of our carefully orchestrated charade. Lizzy's crowning moment, her chance to flaunt our "success" to the world as if we're still the esteemed Blackwells, untouched by scandal or debt.

As she flits out of the room, already prepping for her big debut, I feel the emptiness settle. The lies, the deceit, the guilt. All of it is on me like a weight I can't shake.

And somewhere, a whisper takes shape in the darkest corners of my mind. It's Lyra's voice, low and steady, reminding me of what I threw away and the trust I shattered for survival.

I want to think that I did what was necessary and saved us both from ruin. But deep down, I know the truth.

I didn't save anyone. I just sold a piece of my soul to the highest bidder.

"Ahhhhhh..." A scream snapped me out of my thoughts. "Who could that be?"