Chapter Forty
Lyra
Istare at my phone, my mind numb, my body wracked in shivers, my composure dissolved.
I stare at the tape of me—moaning, writhing, begging—playing out on a random porn site.
The video is titled, Big-Shot Reporter Begs for Pain and Cum.
The hashtags are, #masochist, #painslut, #begging, #degradation #hotshotmadetobend.
The video was sent to me from an unknown number, along with the message, Get out of town before it’s too late.
My life as I know it is over. I fall down on my couch, stuck in a state of numbness.
I should be crying. I should be screaming.
I should be losing it—I should be doing anything but what I do, which is watching the video start to end, over and over again.
It plays on repeat, and I watch my world crumble on repeat, yet I still can’t manage to feel anything.
I must be in shock.
My phone is blowing up with calls and texts, so I put it on do not disturb. Instead, I call the one person who I just spoke to—who has the only recourse, only revenge I can find chambered and ready to shoot.
“Lyra,” Tommy picks up, panic threaded through his voice. “Fuck, Lyra—”
“Release the exposé,” I hear myself say flatly. “The one targeting Killian while only implying the other two. Release it anonymously, and put it everywhere.”
Tommy’s silent for what could be a millisecond or hours. Time has no meaning to me anymore; not when it’s lost its value. I have nothing to look forward to, and nothing to look back on. I’m never showing my face at work again. I’m never seeing Killian again. My gaze turns to my living room window.
I’m pretty high up. I could jump to my death—and I don’t think I’d even feel it very much. The impact with cold New York City pavement should crack my skull straight open, especially if I dive headfirst.
“Lyra…” Tommy releases a long breath. “He’ll know it was you.”
“Just like I know he leaked the tape.” I stand, inching toward the window, one step at a time. Jumping is becoming more and more appealing.
“You’re opening Pandora’s Box,” Tommy warns me.
A broken, dissonant smile stretches my lips as I undo the lock on the window and slide it open.
“It was already open, Tommy. Now, I’m shedding light on the demons that were released all that time ago.
” I’m not making any sense, and I’m not aiming to.
A cool gust of November wind blows over my body, raising goosebumps on my skin. My next breath shudders out of me.
“You need to get out of the country if you want to survive this—”
“I don’t plan to survive it,” I say mildly, sticking a hand out the window and testing the temperature of the evening air. Chilly. I’d put on a sweater if it made any difference, but it doesn’t.
“Don’t talk like that,” Tommy hisses.
“I have nothing to live for,” I say flatly.
“You have everything to live for. Getting more awards. Getting married. Having kids.”
His last words snap me partially out of my trance. I stumble back a step, nearly falling to the apartment floor, blinking.
Kids.
My hands move to my stomach. A kid. An innocent baby that’s baking in my stomach as we speak.
Something cuts through the fog and dissonance. A fierce, clawing, feral emotion. A form of love that feels almost animalistic in its vigor.
It won’t just be me jumping to my death. It’ll be me and my baby.
I don’t care about the fact that it’s Killian’s—he forfeited his right to be a father long ago.
As emotions begin to return, one drip at a time, so too do physical sensations. Physical sensations like extreme abdominal cramps. Ones painful enough to make me drop to my knees with a suddenness that rattles me. I clutch at my belly, lips parting over a cry of physical agony.
What the fuck?
What the hell is happening to my baby? The emotions that couldn’t penetrate the fog of shock have now transcended to physical sensations, like my body itself is rejecting my circumstances, vehemently. The pain doubles, then triples, then…
An ungodly scream escapes my lips. It feels like my abdomen is being torn in two. The cramps are the most painful I’ve ever felt…
Tommy shouts something on the phone, but I don’t hear him. All I can do is feel.
Feel the agony that tears me apart from the inside out.
Feel the scream that grates on my throat…
Feel the liquid that trickles down my leg.
Shock and horror overcome me, enveloping me in a thick fog of sheer terror. My entire body is wrecked with violent tremors, a product of pain mixed with fear.
Dimly, I lay flat on my hardwood floor, hook a hand over my waistband and panties, and tug.
What sits in my panties finally brings the first tear trickling down my cheek.
There’s blood. A lot of blood—more blood than I’ve ever gotten on my period. The space around me looks like a massacre.
And in the center of the blood is a clot the size of my thumb…
Everything after that happens in a haze. I manage to pick the phone back up, lie to Tommy that I'm fine, and tell him to air the article. I hang up and go to my shower, rinsing off the blood. The cramps are still there, but they’ve subsided.
I know without a shadow of a doubt I miscarried… and the person at fault is the same person who’s just destroyed my life with a video. More than destroyed my life—he’s killed my baby.
I barely feel anything as I throw clothes, the laptop and phone from Tommy, my passport, and a few wads of cash I keep under my mattress into a duffle bag. I know Killian will send someone after me soon—I’m surprised Locke isn’t already knocking down my door, which puts me on a clock.
I pocket a switchblade I haven’t touched since I first found it in my grandma’s drawers and stashed away in the case I’d ever need it.
I take the service staircase down to the ground floor, and niftily avoid any cameras on my way out of my building. On my path away from my old life.
The only thing left in my heart is anger, pain, and a burning need for vengeance—even though the best vengeance I could’ve mustered has already been executed.