CHAPTER 163: MET CLOISTERS

Ephyra was pulled out of her thoughts when she felt a hand lacing through hers. She looked up to see Lyle leaning back against the car seat, his eyes closed, jaw tight with tension.

Surprised, she sat up straighter and turned fully toward him, calling softly, "Lyle? Lyle, are you alright?"

Lyle hummed under his breath and tightened his grip on her hand.

She glanced down at their intertwined fingers and asked, "Are you in discomfort? Is it very painful?"

He shook his head, voice low. "No. I can bear it, especially with you closer."

But the truth was far more complicated. For the past week, any time Lyle let himself think about Ephyra leaving—after the antidote was done, after her mission ended—the pain returned. A searing ache that ignited deep inside his body, sometimes violent enough to awaken the part of him he kept locked away. The pain triggered what he now thought of as his ’other self,’ a darker force that hasn’t surfaced in months. But that was before he met Ephyra. Now, it surfaced at close intervals.

He’d been fighting hard to keep the physical symptoms hidden from Ephyra. The grotesque black veins that crawled up his neck, the faint red glow in his eyes, the tightness in his chest—it all stayed hidden. Just barely.

But it was easier to hold it back when she was beside him. When he could smell her scent.

So he breathed her in, deeper this time, and tried to resist the overwhelming urge to bury his face in her hair—or her neck. But the resistance broke. Slowly, he leaned closer until his head rested in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

Ephyra squeaked in surprise, eyes widening. "Lyle? What are you doing?"

His voice was muffled. "I need your scent," he said. Then, softer still, "Just for a while. Please."

Her concern deepened as she looked down at him. She adjusted her position to make him more comfortable and asked quietly, "Is it because of the pain? Is it unbearable? Is that why you need my scent?"

Lyle let out a faint sound of agreement. Ephyra sighed, brushing her hand gently over his hair. "It’s alright," she murmured. "You can take as much as you want. That was in the agreement anyway."

She smiled faintly, resting her head against the seat, watching the scenery drift by as silence filled the car once again.

⸻

Time passed. Eventually, they arrived at the hotel.

A group of people waited at the private parking lot—clearly expecting them. Ephyra quickly recognized them as the acting Vice CEO, his assistant, and several department heads from the hotel.

They were stunned to see Lyle’s real face. But what floored them even more was when he casually introduced Ephyra as his wife.

The second she smiled and greeted them, they snapped into frantic, overly respectful responses—some bowing slightly, others stammering. Their expressions screamed panic, like they were afraid breathing too loudly would offend her.

Ephyra nearly laughed. If she weren’t trying to keep her composure, and not wanting to appear arrogant, she might’ve burst out right there. The man they all tiptoed around was currently glued to her side like a clingy shadow, barely sparing them a glance.

He spoke only to her, listened only to her. And when they walked to the elevator, he did so with two guards. The rest took another lift.

At the presidential suite, the Vice CEO stepped forward, key card in hand. He unlocked the tall double doors, pushing them open.

But Lyle didn’t step inside.

Four guards moved first, entering silently to sweep the suite. After a few minutes, they emerged. The lead guard bowed. "It’s all clear, Master Lyle."

Only then did Lyle and Ephyra walk in.

They entered a grand foyer where a metallic sculpture stood on a marble console with curved wooden legs, spotlighted from above. The guards fanned out—three remaining outside, three returning to their posts elsewhere in the hotel. The others had already peeled off before the elevator ride.

Only the Vice CEO and his assistant remained. Since Lyle hadn’t dismissed them yet, they stood awkwardly inside. The assistant, trying to be useful, launched into a hasty description of the suite’s amenities like a flustered hotel tour guide.

Ephyra raised an eyebrow, amused at her thoughts. Since when did ’hotel room guide’ become a thing?

Beyond the foyer, the living room unfurled in serene tones—cream, soft gray, and oceanic blue. A deep blue rug shimmered beneath the marble floors. A sleek sectional sat across from two matching armchairs, all surrounding a low coffee table. Elegant side lamps and tall curtains completed the aesthetic, with city lights twinkling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The dining room to the right held a glossy wood table encircled by cushioned beige chairs and two pale yellow head chairs. Above it, a rectangular chandelier of cascading glass sparkled like falling stars.

Marble floors, soft drapes, and ambient lighting wrapped the entire space in luxury.

Ephyra smiled as she led Lyle into the bedroom. A large white-dressed bed sat at the center with a tufted headboard and matching nightstands. At the foot, a padded bench. Near the tall window, a chaise lounge curved invitingly beside a small table and chair. A soft blue-green carpet muffled their steps.

The guards had already carried the luggage and set it at the front of the wardrobe.

Lyle set their bags down and turned to her. "Is it to your taste?"

Ephyra twirled once, grinning. "You could put me in a cabin and I’d still enjoy it. But yes—this is definitely my taste."

He smiled faintly and moved to the window, looking out over the skyline.

Ephyra walked over to the bedside and sat, then flopped backward dramatically. "So... what’s next until we head out? Rest? Food?"

Lyle turned, his gaze softening. "Rest a little, then food. It was a long ride. You haven’t rested properly in weeks."

"You really are talking a lot these days," She muttered to herself and when Lyle asked what she said, she groaned into the mattress. "Okay, but after that, I want everything. Massage. Steam. Face mask. Fancy cucumber eye patches. I want to be a pampered grape."

He chuckled under his breath. "Then a pampered grape you’ll be."

And for the first time in a long time, Ephyra felt it—not peace exactly, but something like it.

Safety. Comfort. The promise of three days with no regrets.

After they ate some late breakfast—which consisted of a lavish spread of toasted sourdough topped with creamy avocado and poached eggs, golden hash browns, honey-drizzled croissants, a platter of tropical fruits arranged like edible art, and glasses of freshly squeezed orange-pineapple juice chilled to perfection—they took a few quiet moments in the suite, then headed out.

Ephyra, still dressed in her chosen red tank top and white maxi skirt, gold accessories gleaming subtly under the morning light, allowed Lyle to help her into the car like it was second nature.

⸻

The drive to the Met Cloisters took them along the Hudson River, winding through the green spaces of Fort Tryon Park. Trees swayed gently in the early afternoon breeze, their branches casting shifting shadows over the road.

As they approached the entrance, Ephyra leaned forward, her nose nearly pressed to the glass. "Okay... why does this look like we just took a wrong turn into a medieval movie set?"

"Because that’s exactly the vibe," Lyle replied, his voice low and amused.

Outside the window, towering stone walls stood proudly against the backdrop of blue sky and distant city skyline. Ivy crawled up the sides of the centuries-old architecture. The building’s spires, arches, and columns gave it the aura of something impossibly old.

Arriving at the private parking section reserved for VIP guests, one of the security cars pulled ahead to clear the path. The staff already stationed outside recognized the vehicle and straightened instantly, stepping forward with polite greetings.

Lyle stepped out first, his expression unreadable, before turning and offering a hand to Ephyra. The second she emerged, sunlight danced across her accessories, and the staff’s already-careful expressions stretched into something closer to awe.

She smiled at them softly. "Hello."

"Welcome, Madam," one of the guides said, visibly trying not to trip over his own words. "We’ve prepared a private tour, just as requested."

Lyle nodded in approval.

Ephyra’s gaze swept over the grounds. The stone pathway led to a heavy wooden door framed by gothic carvings, and beyond that—through the glass windows—she could see sunlit courtyards and shadowed halls. Her fingers itched to explore.

Inside, the museum smelled like age and incense. The cool stone underfoot made her feel like she was walking into a forgotten Chapter of history. Their guide—thankfully professional and not too chatty—began the tour in the Romanesque Hall, pointing out the stone capitals, faded frescoes, and reconstructed cloisters.

Ephyra let her fingers brush the ancient stone balustrades, imagining monks pacing the halls centuries ago, whispering prayers.

They passed by the famed Unicorn Tapestries—massive, vibrant, and strange in their beauty. She paused, staring up at the woven threads. "How long did it take to make something like this?" she murmured.

"Years," the guide replied. "Possibly a decade."

"It shows," she whispered, reaching instinctively for Lyle’s hand.

He took it without a word.

From there, they entered the Bonnefont Cloister garden, where medieval herbs and plants grew in geometric beds. Bees buzzed lazily around the lavender, and sunlight poured into the space in soft gold.

Ephyra tilted her face up toward the warmth. "I love it here," she said quietly.

"You want to live in a monastery?" Lyle asked, dry.

"I mean, maybe not with the monks," she laughed, nudging him. "But I’d take the peace."

His fingers curled around hers. "Then I’ll build you one."

She turned to him in surprise, but he wasn’t smiling. He was serious—quietly, resolutely serious.

"Don’t say things you don’t mean," she said, just as quietly.

"I don’t," he replied.

Before she could find a response, the guide turned to gesture them forward toward the next room.

Ephyra followed, but something tight and fluttering had taken residence in her chest. She had come on this trip expecting sunshine and scenery and maybe some light flirting. She hadn’t prepared for Lyle to be... this.

Soft. Steady. Offering things that went far beyond this weekend.

But she said nothing.

She just squeezed his hand and walked forward.