Inside the car, the silence was suffocating. The sound of the engine and the hum of the road seemed to echo endlessly, pressing down on an atmosphere already heavy with burden. Lyra sat by the window, her face pale, both hands clutching her black dress so tightly her fingers turned white. Not a single word escaped her lips. Even breathing felt like a struggle.
She only kept repeating in her heart, "For Mom. For Mom. I will obey. Whatever happens, as long as Mommy can recover, I can endure it."
Lord Veylen beside her did not utter a word. His face was stern, eyes fixed straight ahead. Only once in a while did his gaze shift toward Lyra, yet he quickly turned it away. A faint whisper stirred within him that his daughter looked so fragile and beautiful at this moment. But his lips remained sealed, unwilling to admit it, unwilling to reveal any weakness.
The car stopped in front of a towering building. Its glass windows gleamed, standing proud like a palace of steel. Lyra's eyes widened in awe, filled with wonder. Never before had she seen a company of such grandeur. Even her father's own enterprise could never compare to the magnificence of the structure before her.
For a fleeting moment, admiration crossed her heart, but it was quickly smothered by dread. Her steps seemed rooted in place.
"Don't just stand there! Get inside!" her father's voice thundered, startling Lyra.
She hurriedly took a step, but her body faltered. The borrowed high heels she wore felt too tall, too unfamiliar. She stumbled lightly and bumped into her father's back. Lord Veylen turned, his face tense, his eyes flashing with anger.
"Walk properly, Lyra," he hissed coldly, each word carrying sharp emphasis, as if every syllable were a whip.
Lyra could only nod quickly, lowering her head, swallowing back the tears that threatened to fall. Her body trembled, yet she continued to follow her father's steps, entering the building with a heart that felt increasingly crushed.
A man in a neat suit approached as soon as Veylen and Lyra stepped into the building. His demeanor was polite, yet his eyes held a sharpness, as if assessing without words.
"With Mr. Veylen?" he asked, his voice flat, professional.
Veylen gave a slight nod, forcing a polite smile, the smile of a man clinging to his last chance. "Yes, I am Veylen. And this…" his hand extended toward Lyra, lips curving, "my daughter, Lyra."
Lyra bowed politely. Her cheeks burned, unsure how she should act. There was a strange feeling hearing her father introduce her in such a cordial tone, when just hours ago, words of an entirely different nature had been thrown at her.
"Mr. Damien has been expecting you. Allow me to escort you to his office," the man said curtly, then turned to lead the way.
Veylen followed with steady steps, while Lyra hurried behind, struggling to adjust to the high heels that pierced the soles of her feet. Her heartbeat grew faster, her breath heavier.
They entered an elevator lined with black glass. The narrow space was silent, with only the hum of the machine carrying them higher and higher. No conversation was exchanged. Veylen stood still, his face tense, while Lyra kept her eyes on the floor, trying to hide the nervousness tightening in her chest.
The elevator kept moving until it reached the very top floor. A soft chime sounded, the doors slid open, and another world seemed to await them. The man escorted them to a reception desk, guarded by a woman whose appearance was elegant yet cold as ice. The woman glanced briefly, then her eyes swept up and down over Veylen and Lyra, from head to toe. That gaze pierced, as though stripping them bare and weighing their worth without words.
"This is the Veylen family. They have made an appointment beforehand," the escort said to the woman.
The secretary remained silent for a moment, her sharp eyes seeming to measure something. Then, with a calm yet commanding voice, she said, "You may go." The man bowed slightly, then departed, leaving the three of them behind.
The woman rose from her seat. Her movements were deliberate, full of control. She opened a drawer, took out a red folder, then closed it again with a distinct click that echoed in the silence. "Follow me," she said coldly. Without waiting for an answer, she stepped forward first.
Veylen and Lyra could only follow. The long corridor they walked through felt both unfamiliar and suffocating. Dim lights cast a yellowish glow, creating shadows that danced along the walls. Every step echoed, as if the corridor swallowed both sound and feeling. There was a chilling atmosphere, something that made the air heavy and cold, piercing down to the bone.
Lyra kept her head lowered the entire way, her fingers clutching tightly at the black dress she wore. "Why is it so silent? Why does this corridor feel like a prison?" she thought, fear beginning to creep in.
But when they arrived before a large door paneled with old wood and adorned with intricate carvings, the atmosphere shifted. From the gap of the door as it began to open, a bright light spilled out, cutting through the darkness of the corridor. And when the door was fully opened, a different world unfolded before Lyra's eyes.
The room was luxurious, its walls covered with expensive wood, the floor laid with deep crimson carpet. Yet amidst the modern grandeur, there were ancient objects neatly displayed: faded paintings in gilded frames, old porcelain vases, antique swords mounted on the walls. An aura of class and power radiated from every corner of the room, making anyone who entered feel small and powerless.
Lyra swallowed hard. Her legs felt heavy, as if refusing to take another step forward. Her gaze swept around the room, then stopped at the grand chair that faced away from them, a chair that seemed like a throne.
In her heart, a fearful whisper crept in, "Am I going to be sold to an old man? Is this the end of my freedom?" Her heart pounded violently, her hands trembling faintly. Yet she dared not turn to her father for answers. For she knew, whatever happened, she could only obey. All for the sake of her mother.
"You may leave, Griselda."
The man's voice was firm, full of authority yet devoid of harshness. He stood beside a large desk that still faced away from them, the grand chair behind it appearing like a throne shrouded in mystery.
Griselda, the secretary who had been cold toward Veylen and Lyra from the start, bowed respectfully. "Here is the file, Mr. Benjamin." Her tone had softened, so different from her earlier demeanor.
"Place it on the desk," Benjamin commanded curtly, though without shouting. Firm, clear, and authoritative.
Griselda immediately complied, placing the red folder carefully on the desk before excusing herself. The door closed slowly, leaving behind a silence now filled only by a few people: Veylen, Lyra, Benjamin, and the man seated behind the grand chair.
Benjamin turned, his warm gaze falling directly on Lyra. A friendly smile appeared on his face, a smile that felt foreign to Lyra, for she was accustomed only to cold stares and scorn from her family. For a moment, Lyra felt her heart weaken. There was sincerity in this man's eyes, as if he were neither an enemy nor a judge.
"Is she the one you will give to Mr. Damien as collateral?" Benjamin's voice was calm, without pressure, without sarcasm. It was nothing more than a simple question, spoken with gentleness.
Veylen appeared nervous. "Y-yes, Sir…" he stammered, his voice trembling, like a man afraid his truth might be exposed.
Benjamin then lowered his gaze slightly, this time looking at Lyra with gentleness. "Miss, do you know the reason you are here?" he asked, his tone filled with patience, as though he wished to ensure the girl understood what was happening.
Lyra fell silent. Her thin fingers clutched at the black dress she wore, as if searching for something to hold on to. She lowered her head, her lips trembling, but at last she whispered, "Yes."
Yet in her heart, she did not fully understand. All she knew was one thing, for her mother. For the hospital bills and the medicines, she had to obey every command her father gave her.
Benjamin smiled faintly, so sincerely that it made Lyra's chest tighten. "In that case, please sign this folder." His voice was soothing, yet behind those words lay something Lyra could not comprehend.
Veylen stiffened instantly. He shook his head quickly, his tone panicked. "Sir, I haven't said anything yet. I haven't explained my purpose in coming here."
Benjamin's brows furrowed slightly. He looked puzzled, though still patient. From the desk, he picked up a black folder that had already been neatly arranged. With calm steps, he approached and handed the folder to Veylen.
"Weren't you the one who sent this to us?" he asked, his tone friendly, though laced with a hint of firmness.
Veylen swallowed hard, his face pale. His hands trembled as he received the folder. Lyra, standing beside him, could only stare in confusion, her heart struck by uncertainty.
Veylen opened the first page, carefully scanning through the document. "This is a cooperation proposal, with a revenue-sharing arrangement that is quite profitable," he explained slowly, as if reading aloud for all of them to hear. His index finger then moved to the next page until it reached the final section. "And here, one more thing is stated. A Beta who will belong to Mr. Damien."
Lyra turned to her father in shock, her face deathly pale. Those words struck her like a whip tearing through her heart. "A Beta, belonging to Mr. Damien? Does that mean, herself?"
Lyra now stood frozen in place. Her chest thundered, fear and bitterness mixing into one. She did not know what awaited her behind the grand chair that still faced away from them. But she knew one thing, she had been trapped by her own father.