Page 145 of Her Soul to Own

And that’s his first mistake.

XXX

I stand at the podium, the soft hum of broadcast equipment surrounding me like a low, steady heartbeat. The airis cool inside the studio, but my palms are warm where they rest lightly on either side of the sleek black surface. The bright LED lights overhead bathe me in a sterile glow. The cameras are rolling. The world is watching. Again. But not like before.

This time, I’m not the product. I’m the fucking reckoning.

The blazer I’m wearing is slightly oversized, intentionally so. It swallows my frame, the sharp lapels angling across my shoulders. It was Noah’s idea. “Power in minimalism,” he said, half-joking, but he was right. The outfit feels like a statement. I don’t need sequins or couture to command attention anymore. My face is bare except for the same blood-red lipstick I’ve worn since the first post dropped.

The legacy of Isola breathes beneath my skin as I wait for my cue.

In the corner, Fiona Graves watches me with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze assessing everything. She gives me the smallest nod, like an invisible green light pulsing through the air. I wouldn’t even be here without her.

And the memory of how we got here plays like a reel in my head.

It started two days ago.

The phone rang while I was still boxing up the last pieces of my old life. I expected Zara. Maybe Noah. But the name flashing across the screen made my stomach tighten. Fiona Graves.

I answered quickly. “Fiona?”

“Lyra.” Her voice was calm but charged. “I pulled a string.”

My pulse kicked up. “A string?”

“There’s a vacant broadcast slot at one of the independent international networks I’ve worked with before. Offshore jurisdiction, encrypted servers. A clean, neutral platform. No filters. No edits. Total control.”

My chest tightened. “You’re serious.”

“I don’t do jokes, Vane. You know that.” She paused. “You want to torch your father’s empire for good? You need a global microphone. And this? This is a fucking megaphone.”

For a moment, I couldn’t even breathe. The world had been watching me fall for months. This would be the first time I could speak without being censored. No handlers. No PR firms. No corporate interests leaning over my shoulder.

“Send me the location,” I whispered.

When I hung up, my hands trembled. Not from fear, but from knowing what this truly meant.

That was when Silas appeared.

I didn’t even hear him come into the room. He moved like a shadow, like he always does. He studied me quietly for a moment, taking in my expression.

“You good?” he asked softly.

I turned and looked straight into those eyes of his. Calm. Deadly. And only for me. “I need you to come with me.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

The drive to the studio was quiet at first. The kind of heavy silence that sits between people who don’t need words anymore.

I glanced at him while the city lights streaked past outside the tinted windows. The sharp line of his jaw flexed as he watched the road. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting near his thigh, his fingers tapping idly like a pulse.

“You don’t have to be there for this part,” I said softly, testing him. Testing myself.

He turned his head slowly toward me. “Lyra.”

My name in his voice was both a warning and a promise.

“I’m not leaving your side,” he said firmly.

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