Chapter 8 8
Lyra’s POV
I shouldn’t have gone back.
I knew that the moment I stepped through the club’s side entrance and felt the familiar thrum of sound hit my chest. The bass was heavier than I remembered. Or maybe I was.
Just one week away, and my body reacted like it had been starving.
I rolled my shoulders back and kept walking.
The hallway smelled the same.
Same alcohol, sweat and something a bit metallic under it all.
A few girls took a quick look up as I passed, their conversations trailing off.
One of them frowned like she was trying to place me.
Good.
Don’t.
I reached the main floor just as he noticed me.
The man in charge stopped mid-sentence.
Actually stopped.
His eyes scanned over me slowly, analyzing and calculating, then widening just a bit.
Surprise?
No.
Interest.
“Well,” he said after a beat, voice smooth, amused. “I was starting to think you drowned.”
“I took time off,” I replied.
“A whole week?” He bent his head to the side. “You didn’t strike me as the kind who disappears without a reason.”
“I had one.”
He studied my face, then smiled. “You look different.”
I shrugged. “People say that.”
“They don’t usually say it like they mean it.” He gestured toward the stage. “You singing tonight, or did you come to remind us what we’re missing?”
I hesitated.
My chest tightened.
I didn't know if it was out of fear or something else.
Maybe, it was awareness.
“I’ll sing.”
His smile sharpened. “Good.”
He leaned closer. “You don’t even know what you do to this place when you open your mouth.”
“I don’t do anything,” I said.
He laughed under his breath. “That’s what they all say.”
I didn’t bother responding.
The backstage was louder than usual.
Someone passed me a drink; I waved it off.
Another performer brushed past, mumbling something about “the siren girl.”
I ignored that too.
When I stepped onto the stage, the noise changed.
Focused.
I wrapped my fingers around the mic and exhaled slowly.
The first note slid out of me easy and natural as if I’d never stopped.
The room responded immediately.
Shoulders began loosening, heads tilting, conversations falling apart mid-sentence.
I let myself enjoy it.
Just for a second.
The music built. I followed it, not thinking, or controlling, just riding the edge where everything felt sweet and alive.
People watched like they were waiting for something to happen.
Maybe they were.
Because then the air changed.
It was subtle, but I felt it.
A pressure in my chest, sudden like a blade.
My voice faded half a note.
No.
I kept singing, scanning the room.
That was when I saw her.
Aria Quinn walked in like she always did, confident, polished, smiling like she owned every space she stepped into.
Her friends hyped her, laughing too loudly, drawing attention without trying.
And beside her…
My grip tightened on the mic.
Jaxon.
He wasn’t smiling.
His gaze locked onto me the second he saw me.
The pull hit instantly, a violent tug low in my chest that stole my breath.
My voice slipped.
Just for a second.
But his eyes darkened like he felt it too.
Panic surged through my bones.
I stepped back from the mic.
The music stumbled. A few people groaned in confusion.
I didn’t care.
I turned and walked off the stage, heart pounding, the sound of my heels were too loud in my ears.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to.
I could feel him following.
I pushed through the side door and into the alley with the night air hitting me hard.
I sucked in a breath, trying to steady myself.
Footsteps bubbled behind me.
“Lyra.”
I stopped.
I hated that he said my name like that.
Like he already knew how it made my stomach warm.
I turned slowly. “Why are you here?”
His jaw tightened. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“You brought her,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
His brows drew together. “What?”
“Aria. You brought Aria.”
“I didn’t…” He stopped, exhaled. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
He stared at me like he was trying to figure out which part of that mattered. “You ran.”
“I left,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Why?” he asked.
The question hit harder than it should have.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“I know.” His voice dropped. “That doesn’t stop me from wanting one.”
I crossed my arms. “You always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re already involved.”
His eyes went over me, examining.
“You don’t let people get close.”
My pulse spiked.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Don’t what?”
“Act like you know me.”
Silence.
The alley felt too small and too charged.
“I saw you on stage,” he said finally. “You were… different.”
“I was working.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then say what you mean.”
His jaw flexed.
For a moment, something raw slipped through his expression.
Frustration? Confusion? Something darker underneath?
“I don’t like the way people look at you,” he said.
I laughed once, sharp. “That’s not your problem.”
“It shouldn’t be,” he admitted. “And yet.”
I took a step back. “You don’t get to police my life.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“You chased me into an alley.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “You ran.”
“I didn’t want to see you.”
That landed.
“Why?” he asked quietly.
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. The answer burned in my throat, tangled and useless.
“I don’t know,” I said instead.
Something in his expression softened…and that made me angry.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you think this is something.”
His gaze dropped to my throat. “You feel it too.”
I stiffened. “You’re imagining things.”
“Maybe.” He stepped back, giving me space. “You’re on duty.”
The words felt deliberate and dismissive.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”
He nodded once. “Then I should leave.”
I didn’t stop him.
He turned and walked away.
I watched him disappear back into the light spilling from the club door.
Only then did I realize my hands were clenched into fists.
Only then did I realize my chest still hurt.
And only then did I understand the worst part.
I wasn’t angry because he followed me.
I was angry because he left.