Agnes refused to let her beloved granddaughter wear the gown Lucas Arden had once prepared, fearing the fabric carried ill luck.
By sheer luck, that very afternoon, the renowned designer arrived at the Hale Estate with a brand-new creation that hadn't debuted yet.
Lyra stood in the centre of the room, the gown hugging her slender frame with effortless grace. Her honey-blonde hair was swept up into an elegant style, a few soft curls falling gently around her face.
She turned toward the door when the expected knock came and Dr. Alexander Ashford entered the room, a small boy clinging slightly to his side.
"Papa," Lyra called softly.
"You take after Avelina so much," Alexander murmured, dabbing at his tears, remembering his late wife.
He had heard the news, yet Lyra standing so strong after everything she had endured just yesterday. Much stronger than years ago, when the news of Avelina's passing struck her like a storm. For two weeks she lay bedridden.
Dominic Ashford scowled, crossing his arms. The idea of his sister being taken away did not sit well with him.
Lyra leaned down, smoothing a golden stray lock of Dominic's hair.
"Hey, Nick," she said softly.
Dominic didn't reply. His small hands remained clenched at his sides, still reluctant to let go of his protective grip on his sister. The sight made Lyra chuckle softly.
"It's time," Alex said softly, offering his hand to his daughter.
Lyra placed her hand in his, and together they stepped onto the aisle, outwardly poised yet inwardly trembling.
The only guests allowed to enter Hale Estate that day were close friends and family.
Lyra cast a quick glance at her guests and saw Nora among them, smiling with mix of emotions playing across her face as she dabbed at her tears. But there was no sign of Edris. She was sure she had sent him the invitation.
Her gaze drifted to the groom's side, seeing only faces she didn't recognize, except for Damian and Kane.
The groom stood at the altar, facing the aisle, waiting for her—only for her to catch a fleeting glimpse of him as her vision swam in a haze.
Her steps felt heavy and numb, carrying a faint, reluctant curiosity about what awaited her. Lyra clutched her father's arm like an anchor in a storm, trying to steady herself as nerves fluttered wildly in her stomach.
"Lyra," Alex called softly, barely above a whisper. "You all right?"
Lyra nodded. "Just a little nervous."
"It's okay. I'm here." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he guided her toward the groom.
Lyra met her father's eyes one final time, just as the groom reached for her hand and led her away.
Rowan's hand closed around hers, immediately felt it tremble. His brow furrowed.
"Five minutes," he murmured to the officiant beside him.
"I just need to help the bride steady herself."
The officiant nodded and stepped aside, giving them a small pocket of privacy. But his gesture was quickly misread, murmurs stirring among the guests.
Monica exchanged a look with her husband. "What's he up to?" she whispered.
"It's okay. I'll go check," Albert replied.
He stepped to the side of the altar and called, "Rowan? What's happening?"
Rowan looked back at his father, lifting a hand in a small, measured gesture. "Just five minutes," he said evenly. "Everything will be fine."
Albert returned to Monica's side, shrugging slightly at her. This youngest son of them had a knack for keeping them on edge.
They both glanced at Agnes, who had remained calm and composed from the beginning—though neither of them noticed the way her hand was clenched tightly around her dress.
Holding her hand firmly, Rowan whispered, "Just breathe with me."
Lyra closed her eyes, inhaled shakily, letting the warmth of his hand ground her.
The flutter in her chest slowly eased as he murmured, "I've got you."
For a few heartbeats, she steadied herself, her breathing finally evening out.
"Thank you, sir," she said quietly.
Rowan arched a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Is that what you're calling your husband?"
Oh! Lyra realized her mistake, still used to the way she'd addressed him the day before.
Her gaze flicked up to meet his. "Rowan," she corrected softly.
"Good." He cast a quick glance at his watch. "We've got two more minutes."
"Can I ask you something?" Rowan said quietly. "I just want the truth." He lifted a finger beneath her chin.
"Yes."
The warmth of his touch made her breath catch, her cheeks growing warm. Swiftly, Lyra turned her face away to hide her blush.
Look at her acting like that, the corner of his mouth lifted. He leaned in, his breath brushing against her skin as he murmured, "Do you really want to go through with this?"
"Yes." She gave her answer, but it didn't satisfy him.
"Lyra, please, hear me," he said.
"I hope you're not marrying me just because someone told you to.
To me, a wife is someone who shares a life, supports each other's dreams, and builds a home together. I'm not the kind of person who plays at being a contract wife. Understood?"
Lyra's heart skipped a beat. She had never imagined he would say something so heartfelt. His words filled her with a deep reassurance about this marriage. Never before had Lucas spoken to her like that.
Her small lips parted as she said, "Understood. And don't worry about that."
"Lyra, look me in the eyes," he said firmly.
Lyra met his amethyst gaze and said softly, "Yes…I'm ready to be your wife."
His eyes seemed to look straight into her heart, and the warmth in her cheeks refused to fade.
"Cough! Cough!"
Both of them turned their heads, only to see Monica standing behind them, her arms crossed. Albert stood just behind her with his hands on his hips, while Alex beside him wore a puzzled expression.
Lyra quickly turned her head back, her face growing even redder, like a ripe apple. She had completely forgotten that the guests were watching them from their seats.
"Were you making her cry, you rascal?" Monica said in a low voice, trying to hide her anger in front of the guests.
"No," he said quickly, worried his mother would start nagging him.
"Shall we begin, then?" Albert turned and waved to the officiant to start the ceremony.