Page 127 of Her Soul to Own

If he’s sending ghosts for me, how many has he already sent for her? Who’s lurking outside her bedroom door? Who’s waiting for the right moment to get rid of the last person who can ruin him?

I stand up fast, grab the drive, and wipe my blade clean on the dead man’s sleeve. Blood smears across the fabric in wide, brutal streaks.

No time to linger.

I need to move. I need to get to Noah. I need a plan.

But more than that, I need to make sure she’s still breathing.

Because I’ve seen what Evander’s capable of.

And I will not let Lyra become another name in his silent fucking ledger.

Chapter 34 – Lyra – Queen of Ruin

The walls are white. Aggressively white. No logos, brand marks, sponsor decals, or hashtags pretending to be edgy in the corners. Just a blank space, raw, unbothered, and honest. Probably the most honest place I’ve stood in since my mother’s funeral.

Zara paid cash for the media studio, so no contracts, questions, or paper trail. She said it used to be a meditation retreat for burned-out creatives. I don’t doubt it. The place still smells like patchouli, regret, and the kind of silence that makes you confront your entire existence.

I’m standing in front of a white backdrop, the camera’s lens blinking at me like it knows what I’m about to say. Zara’s behind the monitor, cue cards in hand, just in case I fall apart.

But I won’t.

The camera clicks to life. The red light blinks, and I look dead into its eye.

This isn’t going to be polished. Or scripted. Or padded with filters and soft-core background music. This is the guillotine going live.

“My name is Lyra Vane,” I start, my voice sharp, steel-wrapped. “And I’m done letting everyone else tell my fucking story. I’ve done this before, but let’s just say there’s a need for it again, considering I’m tired of dealing with backstabbing bastards.”

I take a slow breath, locking eyes with the lens like it owes me something.

“Let’s start with Harper Eden, the influencer with the most curated trauma on the internet. She wasn’t just my friend. She was my executioner. Harper worked directly with a digital PRfirm contracted by my father. Yes, the same father who controls the Vane Foundation and happens to treat ethics like they’re a casual hobby.”

I lean forward slightly.

“She sold access to my accounts. She seeded fake narratives on forums and gossip sites. Texts, obtained and verified, show her orchestrating a digital smear campaign against me using negative SEO flooding, shadowbanned posts, and ghost comment farms.”

I lift a hand and open my palm. Calm. Deadly.

“And Declan Pierce? Let’s talk about him. He wasn’t just the leak. He was the damn pipeline. We have audio, yes, actual audio, of him laughing and saying, and I quote: ‘This’ll tank her brand just enough for sympathy redemption. Soft fall. Quick climb. Net gain.’”

I shake my head, a slow, deliberate movement that barely contains the charge that’s building in my chest. Zara and I have spent the last few days buried in files, messages, timestamps, and every dirty little thread we could pull. And we pulled hard. We’ve been meticulous and obsessive, making sure every piece of evidence is airtight before we go live. No speculation, no doubt. Just cold, brutal truth. Now, after all that quiet work in the shadows, it’s finally time. Harper and her pet viper Declan have no idea what’s coming. But they’re about to find out in real time, with the whole world watching, that the storm they thought they’d outrun has been tracking them all along. And it’s mine.

“They played chess with my fucking life.”

A new window appears behind me, green-screen magic that Zara layered in post, showing Harper’s messages, dozens of them. Coordinating payouts, media spins, and even a burner phone trail linking funds from an account in the CaymanIslands, one registered under a trust connected to my father, straight into Declan’s consultancy.

“They were all in on it.”

I pause, bracing for impact.

“My father, the ever-silent philanthropist, facilitated the entire circus from behind layers of offshore banking and deniable proxies. While I was bleeding in front of a digital firing squad, he was signing checks. Buying silence, buying betrayal.”

I pause, and my voice softens. It cuts harder that way.

“They used my body as a spectacle. My image, my vulnerability, my trust. All monetized.”

“So here’s my official statement. I’m not here to rebuild my reputation. I’m here to burn theirs.”

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