Page 69 of Her Soul to Own

I smile faintly. That’s more like her.

I grab a glass of champagne, press it to my lips, but don’t drink. Not tonight. Not when everything feels like a test. I set the glass down and make my way across the estate—past clinking flutes, murmurs cloaked in civility, and heels clicking on marble—toward the one place that still promises realness. The powder room.

Zara finds me inside just as I’m reapplying lip gloss, the faint scent of roses and candle wax clinging to the air. She looks like she just walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, her floor-length emerald gown hugging every curve, her dark hair swept into a sleek, low ponytail. She’s wearing gold hoops, an expensive clutch clutched in one hand. Looking every bit like danger in stilettos.

We lock eyes in the mirror, and I give her a smirk.

“What an entrance,” she says, her voice cool and low. “Your bodyguard not breathing down your neck tonight?”

“He must be around here somewhere,” I reply, shrugging one shoulder and pretending the heat in my chest isn’t from the way I’ve been scanning for Silas all night and not finding him.

Zara doesn’t smile. Instead, she steps inside, closing the door behind her.

“You’ve been gone for days,” she murmurs, stepping beside me, her eyes fixed on mine in the mirror. “And you don’treturn texts. You look like a woman who’s either about to win an Oscar or burn this place down.”

“Can’t it be both?”

She huffs out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh, and turns toward me, her expression shifting. “Lyra,” she says. “Are you okay?”

I raise a brow. “You’ll have to be more specific. There’s a lot that’s been happening.”

“The articles…” she begins, her voice firmer now. “People are going mad online. Don’t pay any attention to them. Half of them are jealous, and the other half are just desperate for your attention.”

I look at her, then at myself and my glossed lips. There’s fire in my eyes. “I can’t do anything about it,” I whisper.

Zara reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Just know that they can’t reach you… They just want to be you.”

I don’t answer. What do I even say to that? I’m trying to be brave, but there’s only so much I can fake.

The door clicks open again. I expect another influencer or maybe someone wanting to fix their contour, but what I get is Silas.

He steps in like he owns the building, dressed in a tailored black-on-black shirt that’s unbuttoned just enough to hint at muscle, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looks dangerous and controlled, covered with the cologne that always hits like a memory and a threat. He looks handsome tonight. God, this man’s really beautiful.

Zara grins. “Hey, Silas.”

He gives her a nod, completely unbothered. “Evening, Zar.”

Then, they fist bump.Fist bump.

“What the hell?” I blurt.

Zara winks at me. “Girl’s gotta network.”

Then she sweeps past Silas, giving me a thumbs-up behind his back like we’re at a sleepover and I just got the hottest guy in school to show up. I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips.

Silas steps closer. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me like he’s cataloging every inch of skin that I’ve dared to show. His gaze moves slowly down my throat and across my breasts, lingering just long enough to make me burn, then drops to the hem of my dress like he’s undressing me in reverse.

“You look…” he starts, then stops and tilts his head, “…dangerous.”

“Good,” I whisper, heat coiling low in my belly.

His gaze lingers on my mouth like he wants to bite it. I can practically feel the restraint in him, like he’s holding himself back from pressing me against the marble counter and showing me exactly what he thinks of this dress.

I straighten my back and let my lips part just enough to draw his attention back to them. I see the way his jaw tics and the way his eyes darken.

He wants me. And I fucking love it.

Silas takes a slow step back. His eyes never leave mine. “Take it off.”

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