It's Tuesday morning and even if it's not the weekend, I have nothing to do but lie in bed. No emails to answer. No calls to make. Just me, the ceiling, and the cold blue light of my phone screen. I scroll down my phone.
Then for a second, my eyes don't believe what I see there. The announcement, it came without warning.
No whisper countdown, no grand gesture, not even a text from him. It's just a perfectly curated press release, wrap in corporate polish and artificial elegance, that swept through the media like wildfire:
Ashford Group Confirms Engagement Between CEO Rian Ashford and Nyra Lioren, Heiress to Lioren Holdings.
My name sits beside his like it has always belonged there.
It hasn't.
I read it three times, in my bedroom, curl under the weight of a morning that had already gotten too loud. The pale light stretches across the floor like a glass, a reflection I don't recognise. My fingers hover over the phone. Should I call someone? Maya, maybe? But what would I even say?
That it doesn't feel real? Me being engaged to Rian?
That even though Rian told me, even though the deal was already made, part of me thought it would take longer? I mean, the moment I see it in the news, in fonts I don't choose, beside a man I barely understood anymore.
The world, it doesn't wait for me to catch up, to process the news. Photos start to surface. The photos of my past life, school corridors, fundraisers, galas hosted by my parents. The Lioren Holdings name stamp in gold across glass towers, now whisper about in boardrooms like a ghost story.
This time the headlines comes again but brutal one. Beautifully brutal.
From Bankruptcy to Betrothal, Lioren Unexpected Rise. Fallen Heiress Finds Footing in CEO's Shadow. Ashford's Acquisition: Love or Leverage?
Each word is like a knife wrapped in velvet. My phone buzz, nonstop. Too many messages but I won't open, mentions I won't read. My screen became a mirror of what I had lost and what I am pretending to gain.
Even Maya messaged me.
Maya: Is it true? You're engaged to Rian? Why didn't you tell me?
I stare at her text. I think I should reply her. At least she deserves the truth or maybe some version of it.
Nyra: yeah, we're getting engaged but it's all a lie. I don't know how to explain this.
I pause. Delete what I just wrote. I type again:
Nyra: I don't know how. It's a long story to expand, my dear.
I hit send.
And that's it. The words hover between us like unfinished sentences. Because I am not even sure what part of the truth belong to me anymore. I'm just waiting for her next text.
My phone again vibrates.
Maya: Nyra, talk to me if he is forcing you? What's going on?
Nyra: No. Not forcing. Just… necessary.
Maya: This isn't you. Since when do you start doing things out of necessity?
Nyra: Since my family lost everything, you saw the news, right? Since silence became cheaper than resistance.
Maya: Damn, Nyra… come over or I'll come there. We can run.
Nyra: I can't run anymore, dear. I'm too far in and it's not that simple.
Maya: Is it him?
Nyara: No. It's all me.
Her last message didn't come for a while.
Maya: Then why?
---
I don't have any words next. I just switch off the phone.
According to him, we are getting engaged on Thursday, the day after tomorrow.
No word from Rian, no knock, no call, not even his cold text. The house, my home, it feels like a mausoleum of intentions never fulfilled. My parents barely look me in the eye anymore, don't ask me much about anything. Maybe they lost their courage or maybe they can't face what I've become for them. But silence here doesn't hold peace, it echoes.
Until midnight hit like a quiet slap. My phone buzzes.
R.A.; Wear the gown, it's already delivered at the venue. They'll expect us at 7 by evening.
No greeting, no apology, no explanation, nothing. Actually, we don't own each other any explanations, but still it sounds like an instruction, dressed like courtesy.
I stare at it too long. And type back:
Nyra: Will you speak more than 15 words to me tonight?
His gives immediate reply.
R.A.: Maybe 16 words.
I almost smile.
Almost.
---
Wednesday morning came with soft light and hard truth. A knock comes from the door. My mother, she looks smaller than I remembered. Like grief and regret has folded her in on herself and guilt has made a home of her spine.
She sits beside me, her fingers brush the bed sheet, smoothing creases as if she can smooth time.
"I don't want this for you," she said softly.
I don't answer, I just stare out the window.
"I know," I whisper
She reaches for my hand, her grip, soft and unsure.
"Your father... he didn't know it would cost this much. Neither did I."
As if on cue, he appears, my father.
The man who once signed everything with confidence, now stand with shoulder crave by regret by my door. He sits across from me, his back straight but his voice too heavy.
"You shouldn't have had to do this," he says. "But we were drowning, sweetheart. We dragged you inside, after us."
I swallow the ache rising in my throat "I wasn't dragged and I wasn't pushed. I walked in. But I kept my head above water. That should count for something isn't it, dad?"
His eyes don't shine, instead they crack. He nods his head not as a father but as a man who has broken something he can no longer fix.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. "
And for the first time… it felt enough. Not because it can fix anything. But because it finally acknowledges everything.
---
Thursday arrives, two hours before the event, we leave for the Villa, located at just a short drive away from The Ashford Estate. My parents, they are with me, quiet, present and trying.
The estate and the villa, it's something out of a fairy tale or a fantasy that I've read in my books. Golden chandeliers hang like fallen stars across the ballroom ceiling. Cream and silver floral pouring down the staircase and oft music floating like it belong in another universe.
In the guest suite, the gown waits on the bed, champagne silk with matching jewellery. Shoes, they are made to be seen, not to survive. I slip into the gown slowly. The fabric cling like memory that is delicate and heavy all at once.
My mother lingers in the doorway. "You look beautiful," she says.
I turn towards her "I don't feel it."
"You don't need to. Power doesn't ask permission to exist."
I node once.
She walks away. I think she don't want me to see her cry.
A team of makeup artist help me to do my makeup. When I look into the mirror, it's like my reflection tells one story but my heart whispers another.
Rian is waiting for me in the hallway.
Black suit, white shirt, and unreadable as always.
We don't speak. We don't need to.
The ballroom doors open. Flashes, shutters, hundreds of eyes, a big applause.
They are for the perfection paint on porcelain faces. He reaches for my hand.
He holds it. For the first time he is holding my hand. He is not squeezing and not even looking at me.
But his palm is warm. And I let him.
Together, we walk a corridor of curated admiration, compliments float like petals.
"You look stunning."
"Rian is lucky."
"She's even more poised now."
"Quite the comeback story."
I smile at them, not out of joy but strategy.
Because tonight, my survival depends on composure, how well I can act.
Near the centre, we pause, He leans in, "You held your ground."
"That surprises you?" I reply his words with bitterness that's build inside me for few days.
"It shouldn't." His voice had change, it's softer. Not kind, but aware.
"You never told me they were going to release the announcement without telling me," I say with my same tone.
He nods toward the crowd. "Would it have changed anything?"
"It would've made me feel like I mattered."
His jaw clench as I speak.
"You do."
"Really? You disappear for two days and now act like, this is normal?" right now I'm too angry but I've to smile anyway.
"I was preparing this….and cleaning up the mess."
"You mean building a palace on lies?" I look into his eyes this time.
"Welcome to my world, love"
"I don't want to live in it, Mr. Ashford"
He looked at me, not with power but something else that I can't define, "It's sounds good when you say it."
I turn away because I can no longer hold eye contact with him. He continues, "If you don't want, then don't live in it. Stay until you're ready to burn it down."
Oh god, this man always twists his words just to confuse me. It wasn't a challenge but It is an invitation and maybe I'll do it happily.
He faces the guests, "Ready for the toast?" He says like somebody will hear us.
"To what?" I say sound just below the whisper.
"To promises. Old and new." He says while I hold his gaze.
"Then I'll raise mine to surviving them." a hush fell.
He raised his glass towards the guests saying "To promises, old and new."
I raised mine, "And to surviving them."
Some guests laugh politely and most just stare.
Then he leans in. Cameras flashes.
The crowd suddenly burst into a teasing cheer, "Kiss, Kiss", their voices slicing through the thick silence between us like a cruel joke.
For the first time, I don't feel like I am drowning. I feel like fire is waiting to be lit.