Page 158 of Her Soul to Own

The sentencing is public. On national broadcast, every seat in the courtroom filled, cameras locked in, and reporters packed shoulder to shoulder.

Lyra stands beside me in the front row, her head held high. I can feel the nervousness radiating from her, but there’s no shaking. No tears.

The judge reads the sentence without ceremony: “Evander Vane, you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. All personal and corporate assets seized. The court finds no grounds for leniency.”

Gasps ripple through the room. Followed by whispers and flashbulbs.

Evander is led away in cuffs, his face pale, hollow, and a ghost of the king he once imagined himself to be.

I glance sideways at Lyra. She isn’t smiling. She isn’t crying.

Her expression is something more honest. It’s not exactly joy, but I can see the sense of freedom behind her eyes.

That night, we sit quietly on the estate balcony. The storm outside mirrors the one that’s been raging inside her for years. Rain pelts against the glass as thunder rolls in the distance. She holds a glass of whiskey in her hand—her new ritual. And the necklace I gave her catches the gleam of lightning.

“You did it,” I whisper.

“We did it,” she corrects, her voice soft but edged with finality. “But it’ll never undo what he did.”

I want to tell her that she’s free. That the worst is over. But we both know better. Scars don’t vanish. They just stop bleeding.

Later that night, after the cameras stop flashing and the reporters disperse like scavengers finally full, I drive us to thecourthouse. We stand outside it. The air bites against my skin, sharp and clean like a blade slicing through the stench of everything we’ve crawled through to get here.

The city lights fade in the distance, but here, right here, it’s silent.

Lyra stands beside me, close but not leaning, not needing. She doesn’t need to cling to me. She never has. But I feel her heartbeat in the way her breath fogs the air, steady and alive.

My fingers twitch at my side, the old instincts always ready, always waiting. But there’s nothing left to guard against. No snipers hiding in shadows, no mercenaries plotting behind unwelcoming boardrooms. Just us. Just this moment.

And for the first time, my reality shifts into something beautiful.

I look at her, really look at her, and my chest tightens with something I still don’t quite have words for.

I was trained to kill for power. To eliminate threats, enforce order, and diminish weakness. That’s what the military built me for, what I let everyone build me into. But for her? I learned to fight for something far more dangerous.

Love.

She turns her head slightly, catching my stare. Those eyes… fuck, those eyes, they’ve haunted me since the day I met her. And they still fucking undo me every time.

“It’s finally over,” I whisper, my voice rough.

But she gives me that faint, knowing smile, the one that says she’s always two steps ahead.

“Maybe,” she murmurs. “It’s finally our time now.”

And fuck if that doesn’t feel even better.

Chapter 42 – Lyra – Queen of Ashes

The rooftop has come alive with cameras flashing like fireworks and drones buzzing in synchronized patterns overhead, the entire fucking world watching.

And I stand in the center of it all.

The newly renamed Isola Initiative glows behind me, the black and gold phoenix emblem stretched high across the digital banners, burning like a warning shot. It’s not a monument to Evander Vane. Not anymore. That bastard’s personal empire, his private accounts, offshore holdings, and vacation properties were all seized under federal order for tax evasion, conspiracy, and enough legal violations to keep the courts busy for the next two decades. The few scraps left behind? This. My mother’s vision. My revolution.

I take a breath, steady and controlled, as I glance at the sea of flashing bulbs and wide-eyed journalists packed onto the terrace. Live feeds stream to every corner of the planet, the headlines already spinning:

THE RISE OF LYRA VANE: FROM HEIRESS TO AVENGER.

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