CHAPTER 36: FAVORED GUEST

In the kitchen, warmth from the stoves chased away the mansion’s evening chill.

The chef worked with practiced ease, arranging ingredients for the special dinner—fresh herbs, aged cuts of meat, and delicate pastries waiting to be baked.

Two maids moved briskly but quietly, carrying polished silverware and folded linen toward the dining room.

Another checked the crystal glasses one by one, hold up to the light to ensure not a single smudge remained.

The entire household was preparing, the kind of gentle rush that only happened when a truly special guest was expected.

Far from the bustle, in a quieter wing of the mansion, Silas Chavan sat in the parlor, half-leaning back in the leather armchair. A hardcover book rested open on his lap, untouched for a while.

"Is someone coming over, darling?" came the gentle voice of his wife from behind. Marce took the armchair beside him.

Silas closed the book softly, slipping a finger between the pages.

"Yes, it’s Mia’s friend," he answered.

Something clicked in her mind, and she asked, "A gentleman friend? Someone she’s considering, perhaps?"

Silas didn’t reply. He had no clue. All Mia had mentioned was a friend from Mistvale.

A faint rumble of a Jeep engine reached the house. The butler stepped forward to announce that the young miss and young master had returned.

Silas rose from his armchair, setting the book aside, ready to greet their guest.

Marce followed shortly after, adjusting the fold of her dress and smoothing her hair.

The moment they saw the girl, the middle-aged couple found themselves unexpectedly taken aback.

She was far younger than they had anticipated and she certainly didn’t look anywhere near Mia’s age.

Lyra stepped into the parlor wearing an asymmetrical knit cardigan that draped gracefully over one shoulder, paired with loose trousers. A style that only added to her youthful charm.

She smiled when her gaze met Marce’s. But Marce didn’t even blink.

She was completely captivated—almost spellbound—by the blue eyes before her. They were bright and impossibly clear, like a pale blue diamond catching the light.

"Ahem... Mom..." Edris tried to remind her gently. It felt a little improper for her to stare at a guest like that, and he didn’t want Lyra to feel uncomfortable.

But the moment he cleared his throat, a picture formed instantly in Marce’s mind—Edris standing beside Lyra, without Mia in the frame. They looked... fitting together, almost naturally so.

Her gaze shifted to Silas in excitement. He met her eyes and gave a subtle, knowing nod, as if the very same thought had occurred to him.

This wasn’t Mia’s friend at all—it had to be Edris’s. Perhaps Mia was simply helping him cover it up, since it wouldn’t look proper for a young bachelor to bring home a young woman at night.

"Mom, Dad... this is my friend, Dr. Lyra Ashford. She’s a doctor from Mistvale," Edris said, unfazed by their shocked expressions.

Neither parent showed their surprise openly, but it hung in the air.

A doctor from Mistvale. No wonder Edris had pinned himself there before—long before he decide coming back home.

Marce adjusted her posture ever so slightly, reassessing the young woman before her.

The title wasn’t used lightly in their circle, especially for someone so young. And yet, standing there with quiet dignity, Lyra wore it well.

"Lyra, these are my parents," Edris said, introducing them. He tried to catch Marce’s eye, gently urging her to ease up on her curious inspection of their guest.

Lyra smile and offered a gentle bow.

"Good evening, Uncle, Auntie. I hope my presence isn’t an inconvenience."

As she straightened, she nearly jumped. Just a moment ago, this auntie had been over there, three meters away.

Now she stood close to her—so close that there were only a few inches of space.

Marce reached out and clasped Lyra’s hand with both of hers—her touch gentle but full of affection.

"Oh, sweetheart, you’re not bothering us in the slightest. I’m honestly so happy you’re here," she said, her voice rich with warmth.

"Come, dear. Let’s go to dinner."

She kept Lyra close as she guided her toward the dining room, her hand lingering around Lyra’s as if she had known her for years.

During dinner, Lyra blended easily into every conversation. The table grew lively as they discussed a wide range of topics related to their profession.

Marce and Mia soon found themselves gently trying to persuade Lyra to stay the night.

Silas, meanwhile, encouraged Mia to bring her along to the conference the next morning.

It made sense. She was a doctor—sharp and effortlessly engaging in every medical topic they touched on. She belonged in a conference room, not just at their dinner table.

So when Lyra found out the conference was the same one Pierce would be attending too, the decision became easier. She agreed to stay, not wanting Mia to make another trip just for her.

Once she’d made up her mind, she excused herself to make a call.

...

Heat from the shower still lingered as Theo stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

Water glistened along the sharp lines of his torso, catching the warm ambient lighting of the room.

The grand suite around him was spacious—dark marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and muted gold accents that reflected his taste for quiet luxury.

He ran the towel roughly through his damp hair as he crossed the room toward his phone, which had been ringing nonstop.

The screen glowed against the polished surface as his fingers curled around it. The moment he saw the caller’s name, he answered immediately.

"Hello, brother Theo," came a soft voice on the other end.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Have you reached your friend’s house?" His voice dropped into a deep, tired rumble, evidence of a long, exhausting day.

"Yes," Lyra replied. "Just letting you know. I’ll be staying here tonight."

"Alright. Good that you told me," Theo said.

He walked toward the minibar, where rows of premium bottles stood under soft amber lighting.

"Mia wants me at the conference tomorrow, so I’ll meet you there."

"Okay. Take good care of yourself. And remember what I told you about Rowan," he said as his fingers brushed along the cool glass before he selected a dark, aged whiskey—the kind sealed with a heavy crystal stopper.

"I remember," Lyra said softly. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll hang up now."

The call ended after a brief goodbye.

Theo set the phone on the polished bar counter.

He uncorked the bottle, reaching instinctively for a Royal Scot crystal tumbler.

The whiskey ran in a slow, steady stream—amber light rippling through the liquid as it filled the glass, casting warm gold across his knuckles.

His jaw tightened as he lifted the glass and swallowed a generous mouthful, welcoming the sting.

"Rowan... what are you thinking?" he muttered under his breath.

He wasn’t anxious. He just recognized the signs and he refused to let his brother make the same mistakes he once had.

When they learned Lyra had been ignored since the night before, the tension in Theo’s jaw only sharpened.

Lyra hadn’t said anything that could have upset Rowan, but Theo knew better.

He knew his brother and he could see the hurt she wasn’t voicing.

After a brief, clipped conversation with their father, Theo made a firm decision. Lyra would be under his care until she returned to Mistvale.

Albert agreed. He couldn’t tolerate Rowan’s behavior or the way he had left her hanging.

The last thing they needed was for her to stumble into danger because of Rowan’s carelessness.

If anything were to happen to her, neither of them could imagine what they would possibly say to her family.

...

Back at the Chavan Estate, Marce asked Edris to accompany Lyra on a walk through the gardens. A gentle way to help her settle after the meal.

But beneath the suggestion, Marce simply wanted Edris to have a little time alone with her.

The thought of having Lyra as a daughter-in-law quietly delighted her, unaware that Lyra was already married—a detail her children had somehow neglected to mention.