The Family That Wanted Me Dead, Now Wants Me Back

Lyra’s POV

“I’ll be back in forty-eight hours to take what’s supposed to be mine—the Don’s wife seat. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it,” I said, my fingers locked tight around the encrypted burner like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

For a second, I just sat there, frozen. Then I dragged in a slow, exhausted breath and killed the call.

“Get out of our house, you poisonous bitch!”

The shout snapped me out of it.

The twins—Ian and Vale—stood in the kitchen doorway like two young kings guarding their territory. Their eyes were bright with rage, sharp and merciless.

I let out a quiet breath. “Happy birthday,” I said softly. “Make a wish.”

I lifted the cake I’d spent hours on—every detail perfect. Not just sugar and frosting either. I’d slipped in my own little protection, the way you do when you’re used to danger.

Ian stepped forward, jaw clenched. “My wish?” His smile was cold. “I wish you’d disappear for good.”

Before I could even blink, he launched the cake straight at my face.

The impact made me gasp. Cream and sponge smashed into my nose and mouth, frosting streaking my cheeks as I stumbled back. The twins’ laughter bounced off the walls like gunfire.

I tried to move, tried to get away—

Vale swung his leg out, blocking me like a trap.

I hit the floor hard, and the pan of oil I’d used earlier—still sizzling—tilted and spilled.

It poured down my left arm.

The pain was instant. White-hot. Savage.

A scream ripped out of me before I could stop it.

Above me, the twins stood there grinning, watching like it was entertainment.

“This is just the start,” Vale said, voice flat.

Ian nodded, like they’d rehearsed it. “Leave now. Because next time, you won’t be lucky enough to walk away.”

They spoke in perfect unison, like two little monsters raised on hate.

The housekeeper rushed in at the sound, her face going pale the moment she saw me sprawled on the floor—covered in cake, shaking, clutching my burned arm.

“My God…” she breathed. “What did you do?”

“They had it coming,” Ian said with a careless shrug. “She’s a snake. She killed our mother.”

Vale didn’t even bother arguing. He just turned and walked out, Ian right behind him, both of them leaving me there like trash on marble.

My whole body trembled.

The maid hurried to my side and helped me up, gentle hands steadying me as if she was afraid I’d break.

“I don’t understand you, Lyra,” she whispered, voice thick with pity. “I really don’t. Why do you let them treat you like this?”

I forced a small smile, weak and tired, as she guided me back to my room.

She opened a small jar and pressed it into my palm. “This will help with the burn. It’s angry, but it’s not too deep. Put it on every day and you won’t scar badly.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, my throat raw.

After she left, I went to the bathroom and washed the frosting off my face. In the mirror, my eyes were red and swollen, my lip split where I’d bitten down from the shock.

I stared at myself for a long time.

Then I spread the ointment over my arm, hissing when it touched the raw skin.

“What a damn idiot,” I whispered.

Eleven years ago, I was supposed to marry Magnus Caldwin.

The wedding was set. The families were aligned. The power shift was planned down to the last detail.

And then everything went wrong.

An “accident,” they called it.

I nearly died.

While I was bleeding out in a hospital bed, my best friend—Ariel—stepped into my place and married him instead, keeping the Caldwin name clean and their empire stable.

When I finally woke up, I learned the truth: Magnus was already married.

The guilt in his eyes was real when he realized I hadn’t run away from him. I hadn’t abandoned him. I hadn’t betrayed him.

So I told him, straight to his face, to divorce Ariel and marry me like he was supposed to.

He refused.

“Don’t do this, Lyra,” Magnus said, his voice tight. “Ariel did what she had to. She protected the family. Do you know what it would look like if I threw her out immediately?”

“And what about me?” I demanded.

His gaze softened. “One year,” he promised. “Give me one year. Then I’ll divorce her and make you mine.”

I believed him.

I shouldn’t have, but I did.

Before that year was even over, he came to me with a request that made my stomach drop.

“Lyra… Ariel wants a baby before she leaves,” Magnus said.

I stared at him. “Before she leaves? What are you talking about?”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw like he hated himself. “Her grandparents. They’re dying. They want to see a grandchild. It’s their last wish.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And why does that involve me?”

His voice sharpened, impatient. “Because she can’t have children.”

The words hit like a slap.

Then he said it, as if it was nothing.

“She wants you to carry them.”

I felt my whole body go cold.

“She wants me to have her baby?” I asked, barely able to speak.

Magnus took my hands like he was trying to calm me down. “Not hers. Ours. Think about it—”

“No,” I snapped. “Don’t twist it.”

He leaned closer, eyes intense. “Lyra, please. She’s your friend. She’s always been good to you. Just help her. Once she’s gone, everything goes back to how it was supposed to be.”

I didn’t understand how someone could say something so cruel with such a calm face.

But he kept pushing.

“Ariel will leave,” he swore. “And then we’ll marry. The children will be ours. You’ll raise them. You’ll finally have everything you were promised.”

I hesitated.

And then, like the idiot I was, I let him convince me.

I carried the twins for them.

I gave up my body, my pride, my peace—because I thought it was the last ugly step before the life I was owed finally began.

But I never even got the chance to hand those babies over.

Ariel died before I gave birth.

Another “accident.”

Another tragedy.

And Magnus—wrecked by grief, shattered by guilt—looked at me like I was the only thing left in his world that could hold it together.

He begged me to stay.

He begged me to raise them.

So I did.

I gave birth to two boys. And instead of becoming the woman beside Magnus, I became the woman cleaning up the mess of his dead wife.

Two years passed.

Magnus still didn’t marry me.

When I asked him why, he looked at me like I was unreasonable.

“How do you think it’ll look?” he said. “People will say I’m celebrating Ariel’s death.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“But I’m the one you were meant to be with,” I said, my voice shaking. “I’m the one you promised.”

Magnus’ face hardened. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Focus on the boys. Marriage can come later.”

Later.

Always later.

So I poured myself into raising the twins. I tried to love them enough for two mothers. I tried to be patient, gentle, steady.

But it didn’t matter what I did.

They hated me.

They clung to Elara—the nanny—as if she was their real mother, and they treated me like the villain in their bedtime stories.

To them, I wasn’t the woman who carried them.

I was the woman who “stole” their mother’s place.

The woman who “killed” Ariel.

Eleven years.

Eleven years of swallowing insults, cruelty, cold stares, and whispered accusations.

And today?

Today, I finally hit the end of whatever was left inside me.

I was done waiting for them to love me.

Done begging for scraps of kindness.

Today, I made my choice. Today, I decided to leave.