Less than an hour before the show went live, Lyra sat in her dressing room while a stylist put the finishing touches on her hair. She stared at her reflection, a woman she was only just beginning to recognize.
Her phone, lying on the counter, buzzed once.
She picked it up. A text from an unknown number. Her breath caught in her throat as she opened it.
It was from Caspian.
I know nothing can undo what I did. But tonight, the truth will come out. All of it. I am sorry, Lyra. Break a leg.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She read the message again, then a third time. It was the first apology he had ever offered that didn’t demand something in return. No excuses. No justifications. Just… sorry.
The words “the truth will come out” hung in the air, a confirmation of the storm she knew was gathering on the horizon. So it was happening tonight. All of it.
A complex wave of emotions washed over her. A flicker of vindication. The ghost of an old, deep pain. And, surprisingly, a strange and profound sense of detachment.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, the impulse to reply a faint echo from a past life. What would she even say? Thank you? It’s about time?
No. There was nothing left to say. His war was not her war. His reckoning was not her victory.
She had her own finale to win.
Deliberately, Lyra placed the phone face down on the counter, the screen going dark. She would not look at it again. She met her own eyes in the mirror, her expression clear and resolved. The outside world could wait.
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