Page 157 of Her Soul to Own

The safehouse smells like old whiskey and expensive paranoia. It’s a converted loft with steel beams, bulletproof windows, and multiple exit points. My kind of place. The kind of place you use when you’re prepping for the kind of war that doesn’t end clean.

Noah drops a flash drive on the table like it’s radioactive. “He’s still playing.” His voice is tight, almost impressed. “Two federal clerks and one juror. Bribed through offshore proxies.”

“Even in shackles, he’s still playing chess,” I mutter, my jaw tightening.

Lyra sits beside me, silent but razor-focused, her face carved from stone. She’s been like this all night, controlled and locked down. But beneath it? I can feel the storm brewing in her.

Fiona’s already tapping into secured channels. “I’ve secured direct contact with federal oversight. These files are going straight to the ethics committee, the AG, and the judicial protection office. They won’t be able to hide this.”

I rub a hand over my jaw, forcing the old part of me to stay buried. The part of me that wants to fix this with violence instead of paperwork.

“Once,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else, “I would’ve handled this with a bullet. But now? I use their own weapons against them.”

Noah grins, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “Growth, brother. It’s disgusting.”

Lyra finally speaks. Her voice is low and steady, but lethal. “Just burn it all to the fucking ground.”

And we do. By morning, the entire legal system is fully exposed to Evander’s desperate bribery attempt. Judges reinforced, prosecutors protected, and journalists fed the final act of Evander Vane’s spiral. He’s not just losing. He’s rotting in public.

The next day, she asks to see him.

Not for closure or peace. For the kill shot.

I walk with her through the federal detention center, my nerves razor-wire tight. I’m armed. Not because I think Evander has any moves left, but because he’s still a snake, and even a dying one can bite.

As we approach the visitation chamber, I glance down at her. She looks like royalty walking into a tomb. Calm, unforgiving, and dangerous.

“You sure?” I ask her, my voice low.

Her answer is instant. “Yes.”

I open the door for her, but I stay just outside, close enough to intervene but far enough to let her have this.

Inside the cell, Evander sits at a metal table, his hands shackled but still carrying that oily arrogance like it’s the last currency he owns.

He smiles when she enters. It’s the kind of smile that used to control her. The kind that used to work.

“You’ve made your point, sweetheart,” he says smoothly, like they’re discussing a dinner party instead of his impending life sentence. “Enough damage has been done.”

Lyra doesn’t flinch. “You’re not here because of me. You’re here because of you.”

He leans forward, his voice softening, fake fatherly concern dripping from every word. “I protected you, Lyra. You don’t understand the threats I kept away. Your mother was unstable. She would’ve dragged you down. I did what I had to do.”

The old gaslight. The same manipulative rot he’s used for years. But this time? It bounces off her like nothing.

“No,” she says sharply. “You didn’t protect me. You controlled me. You used me. And you killed her.”

Evander’s mask slips, just for a second. A hint of rage beneath the polish. He tries one last time, his voice tightening, grasping at whatever weak thread he has left. “The world forced my hand. Everything I built was for you. For your future.”

Lyra steps closer, towering over him now, her voice like a goddamn scalpel. “You didn’t just lose your empire, Father. You lost me. And that was always your real power. Control.”

Her words hit him like a fucking bullet, and for the first time, truly, his face crumbles. His lips part, and there’s no comeback or smooth deflection.

He’s just a man who finally realizes he’s nothing, but he still goes on. “You’re going to regret this, Lyra.”

“Dad, I wish I cared enough to regret. But I don’t. Not anymore.”

XXX

---