Page 106 of Her Soul to Own

So I wait, reluctantly and torturously so. But I wait.

The door’s cracked slightly, and through the gap, I can see her. I can see the soft rise and fall of her chest, and the way the sheets curl around her body like a fortress. She’s so fucking beautiful, even in her sleep. Even when she looks so damn breakable.

I stand there for a long moment, just watching her. This is what I’ve been fighting for. This is what I’ll keep fighting for. But I can’t afford to be distracted. I’ve got bigger battles ahead.

After a minute, I take a step back. I can’t stand here forever. The world won’t wait for me.

I glance at her one last time, then turn and walk quietly away from the door.

The storm’s still coming, and I can already feel the rain.

But this time, I’m not just a bystander. Evander wanted a war, so I’m the one who’s going to bury him.

Chapter 26 – Lyra – The Siren and the Scythe

I stand in front of the vanity mirror, running my hands over the fabric of my emerald blouse. It’s just a blouse, but it feels like armor today. It’s a perfectly fitted blouse that accentuates my body in the best possible way. Below, I’m wearing a midi skirt that falls to my knees. I can already feel the pressing weight of the world against my skin, but at least it’s on my terms now.

I twist my lips into a smile, my dark lipstick a shade too bold for comfort. Bold is what I need today. Bold is the only thing keeping me from breaking apart and shattering into a million pieces. So I paint on a face that can endure this war… with eyes lined like battle scars and lips painted for vengeance.

If they’re going to watch, then they’ll watch me burn them down.

The words swirl around in my mind, echoing like a promise.

I’ve been pushed to the edge and been told what to do, how to act, and what I should say. I’ve been branded, objectified, and dissected for clicks. But not anymore. This isn’t a confession of guilt. It’s a declaration. It’s me taking control of the narrative, rewriting it in bold, and burning ink. This is me standing up, owning every flaw, every scar, and daring them to judge me again.

I reach for my phone, checking for the hundredth time that everything is ready. The livestream is queued, the video is set to go viral, and I’m about to reclaim what’s mine. Not just my reputation, but my life.

I walk out of my room and head toward the estate’s private office. The familiar angst in my chest is back, but it’s different now. It’s not fear anymore. It’s something else, something darker and far more dangerous. And I’m embracing it.

The hallway feels long today, like it’s stretching out beneath the burden of my thoughts. And then I see him. Silas. He’s standing near the door, looking like he’s been waiting for me. His eyes are heavy, like he knows what I’m about to do, but he says nothing as I approach.

I stop in front of him, his gaze unwavering. “I need to do this alone,” I tell him, my voice steady. “Your presence might distract me.”

He gives me a look, half-proud and half-amused, and for a second, I see a flash of something tender in his eyes. “I know you’ve got this,” he says softly. “But if you need me, I’m right here.”

I smile at him, despite everything. “I know,” I say, giving him a quick nod. “I just need to take this last step on my own.”

I turn and head toward the desk my father uses for his endless business meetings. It’s massive dark wood with sleek lines and far too many power plays for comfort. I sit down in the chair, feeling small in this space that’s been built to intimidate, to command. But today, I’m not just sitting in it. I’m taking it over.

I place my phone on the desk, the camera lens trained on me. For a second, I pause. I stare at my reflection in the darkened screen, the woman in the frame staring back at me. She looks so different now, stronger and more resolved. She’s not the same girl who would’ve let herself be torn apart. She’s here to rebuild.

I take a deep breath, my fingers brushing over the polished surface of the desk, and then, before I can overthink it, I hit record.

“My name is Lyra Vane. You think you know me.”

I let the words hang in the air for a moment, feeling their influence. This is it. This is the moment everything shifts.

“But the truth is, you don’t know me. Not really. You see the carefully curated version of me, the one I’m supposed to be. But what you don’t see, the real story, isn’t about the fake smiles and perfect photos. It’s about what happens when you turn a human being into a commodity, a vessel for your voyeuristic pleasure.”

I pause. I need to say this right. This is my message and my truth, and I can’t fuck this up.

“You think I’m a victim of a viral scandal. But I’m not. I’m a victim of a system that uses women like me to feed its hunger for engagement, for attention. You weaponize our trauma, our bodies, and then act like we should be grateful for it.”

I can feel my pulse quicken, but I don’t let it show. I press on.

“I’m not ashamed. I won’t be. I’ve been watched, mocked, and consumed, and I am still standing. That is my crime.”

I take a deep breath, staring into the camera and knowing what I’m about to say is going to change my life. For better or worse, that’ll be determined later.

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