Before the contract.
Before the towering gates of that silent, secretive mansion swung open.
Before the icy eyes of Adrian Blackthorn met hers with a gaze so sharp it seemed to carve into her soul.
There was a girl named Lyra.
A girl made of sunlight, laughter, and the kind of hope that refuses to die even in the face of unbearable tragedy.
Lyra lived in a small, quiet town tucked between two sloping hills like a forgotten melody. The kind of place where the days were long, the skies were soft blue, and the scent of blooming jasmine followed you like a promise. Her life was far from glamorous—but it was hers. A simple life, wrapped in familiarity and stitched together with small joys.
She lived with her grandparents in an old wooden house that creaked when the wind blew but stood strong like the love they shared. It had faded blue shutters, flower pots on the windowsills, and a front porch that caught every golden beam of sunset. The town called it the "Smiling House." Not because it was big or modern, but because laughter always seemed to come from within.
Her grandparents—Mama Rina and Papa Jo—were her world. Rina had silver-streaked hair always tied in a neat bun, and Jo had a crooked back but a straight heart. They raised her after her parents' tragic accident—a story the town knew but didn't speak of often, out of respect.
Lyra had always been different. Not in a loud, dramatic way. But in the quiet way of someone who noticed things—like the way petals curled before rain or how someone's eyes lingered too long on a goodbye. She was gentle, but not weak. Her smile was sunshine, but her spirit was fire.
She worked part-time at the local flower shop. Woke early, helped her grandmother with breakfast, and rode her old, rattling bicycle down the cobbled street with a worn basket on the front. Everyone in town knew her. Old Mr. Benny from the bakery would wave and shout, "Still smiling, Lyra?"
And she'd laugh, "Always, Mr. Benny!"
But beneath that laughter, there were cracks. Quiet moments when her eyes drifted toward the horizon. Wondering. Hoping. Sometimes fearing.
She was cheerful, yes. But not naïve.
She knew pain. She had met grief at a young age, and danced with it many nights when the silence became too loud. Her parents' death had left a hollow place in her chest that never quite filled. But instead of letting it consume her, she grew something beautiful around it.
Kindness.
Lyra helped the old, read to children at the library, and brought extra bread to the homeless man who played guitar near the station. The community loved her, not just for what she did, but for who she was. She was like spring after a long winter. Gentle. Healing.
And yet, even in this seemingly perfect, simple life… life was not easy.
Money was tight. Her grandparents were aging. The flower shop barely paid enough for basic needs, and Lyra's dreams—quiet ones of maybe becoming a writer, or traveling to see oceans—were locked away like letters in a drawer too painful to open.
Sometimes, at night, she'd sit on the porch with Mama Rina, sipping warm milk, and stare at the stars.
"You ever feel like there's more?" Lyra would whisper.
"There's always more, sweetheart," Rina would say, brushing a lock of hair behind Lyra's ear. "But sometimes, more comes wrapped in strange packages."
Jo would grunt, rocking gently beside them. "Just don't open a package if it smells of trouble."
They'd all laugh, but somewhere deep in her heart, Lyra felt a pull.
And that pull answered when the job posting came.
A mysterious billionaire seeking a girl for a confidential role. No details given. Huge sum offered.
The town buzzed. Girls whispered in the café, dressed up in their best, hoping to be chosen. Some were desperate. Some were vain. But Lyra… she didn't want it. Not really. It sounded strange. Dangerous even.
But the hospital bill had just come for Papa Jo. Her grandmother had just coughed up blood. And the dream she was trying so hard to protect was breaking beneath the weight of reality.
So she went.
Not because she wanted riches. But because she had no choice.
What happened at that interview changed everything.
Dozens of girls arrived, all dressed up like peacocks in perfume. But the man—Adrian Blackthorn—dismissed them all. One by one, coldly. Without expression. Until it was only her. Standing there in her simple dress. No makeup. No practiced smile. Just her—real, raw, and trembling.
He didn't smile when he saw her. Didn't flinch. He only watched. Like a hawk studying prey. Like a ghost remembering a long-forgotten feeling.
And she felt it.
That pull.
That terrifying stillness in his presence, as if the air itself bent around him.
But she didn't run.
Because even though Adrian's presence was a storm, she had known loss. She had lived through darkness. And she had built light from it.
She didn't look at him with desire, like the others. She didn't shrink. She simply met his gaze and waited.
And that was when Adrian made the offer.
A six-month contract. Pretend to be his girlfriend. A relationship on paper, never real. Stay in his mansion. Follow the rules. Don't ask questions. Don't speak of it.
In exchange—more money than she could ever dream of.
And she accepted.
Not because she trusted him.
Not because she was charmed.
But because her family needed it.
Because she had lived her whole life giving, and now she had to give something back to those who saved her.
The town didn't know the truth. She told her grandparents it was a job—secretarial, maybe. They didn't ask too much. They trusted her.
Her friends were skeptical. "Lyra, it's too sudden. What kind of job pays this much?"
But she laughed. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."
Only she knew the truth. Only she had seen the way Adrian's eyes looked like polished onyx—beautiful, but utterly empty. Only she remembered the chill in his voice when he said, "This contract is confidential. If you break it, you lose everything."
And something inside her told her he meant it.
Still, she went.
Because life had always asked too much of her. And she had always given it.
But even as she left that smiling town behind, even as the roads became lonelier, the air colder, something whispered in her heart:
Was this fate?
Was there more to Adrian's offer than money?
Was this the beginning of something that would break her—or remake her entirely?
Somewhere in the village, the wind passed through the cherry trees as an old tale echoed in the breeze:
"Beware the path that offers gold too soon, for it often hides a heart carved of stone."
But Lyra had already stepped forward.
And destiny had already begun to shift.
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*What truly lies behind Adrian Blackthorn's cold offer? Why did he choose Lyra out of all the girls? And what secret waits behind that forbidden door?*
*Turn the page. Some hearts are frozen for a reason.*