Page 142 of Her Soul to Own

“You can,” I whisper, driving into her again and finding the perfect angle that makes her claw at my shoulders. “Be a good girl for me. Come for me, Lyra.”

That final command pushes her over the edge. Her pupils dilate, her lips parting on a gasp as her entire body shudders. Her pussy tightens around me like a vice, drawing out my release.

“Lyra… fuck…” I groan as I explode deep inside her, filling her just like she begged. My hips thrust one last time, locking us together, my chest pressed to hers as I tremble through my own climax.

The rain continues to pour, washing over our spent bodies as I bury my face against her shoulder, panting and biting her skin again like the possessive animal she’s turned me into.

She strokes her fingers along my back, her soft lips pressing kisses to my temple as we slowly come down from the high.

“You’re fucking mine,” I whisper.

“Yours,” she breathes back, her voice full of warmth even as the storm continues to rage around us.

Chapter 38 – Lyra – Rebirth

The cursor blinks on my screen like a heartbeat, each pulse daring me to hesitate. But I don’t.

No more masks. No more carefully curated images.

No more bending for people who’d bury me the second my scandal stopped feeding them clicks. I flex my fingers and begin typing the announcement.

The Isola Initiative.

The words feel like fire beneath my fingertips. Sharp and cleansing.

“The Isola Initiative is dedicated to exposing digital exploitation, protecting whistleblowers, and documenting elite abuse cases that powerful people would rather see buried.”

I inhale slowly and keep going, pouring my rage and resolve into the manifesto. Every sentence hits like a hammer, and every word feels like digging my mother out of her grave one truth at a time.

Attached, you will find:

A full link to leaked documents directly implicating Harper’s PR syndicate in premeditated misinformation campaigns, not just against me, but against dozens of influencers, activists, and public figures they deemed “unstable profit risks.”

A fully documented timeline of how my own scandal was architected, from the moment those cameras were planted to the contracts signed behind closed doors to Harper’s burner accounts used to seed the narrative.

My official resignation from every single brand collaboration, sponsorship, and corporate board.

I pause and stare at the screen. My chest tightens with anticipation and intrigue. This is my mother’s blood on digital paper. This is her legacy reborn in my hands.

Finally, I type the last line.

If you unfollow me, I get it. If you stay, buckle up.

Then, I hit post.

The instant it uploads, I feel something inside me crack, and it isn’t weakness. It’s release.

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