Veil of Deception

AUTHOR’S NOTE :

You’ve met Lyra. You’ve seen her world through her eyes. But now? It’s time to step into the mind of the man who just walked into her life—and, whether she likes it or not, isn’t leaving anytime soon.

So step into his world. See what he sees. And remember—nothing is ever as simple as it seems.

Adam's POV

She had the survival instincts of a house cat—bold, stubborn, and absolutely terrible at making an escape.

I’ve seen people stage breakouts from high-security prisons with less effort than she put into climbing that damn wall, completely unaware that her grand escape had an audience. Rung by rung, inch by inch, like she was executing some master plan instead of a comically slow, utterly doomed escape attempt. The determination was there—she had that in spades—but the execution? A disaster.

And yet, I couldn’t look away.

Maybe it was the absurdity of it. The mafia princess, born into wealth and power, sneaking out of a mansion most people would kill to live in. Was she running from a curfew? A particularly dull dinner? The unbearable burden of being ridiculously privileged?

Or maybe it was her—Lyra Shadowlyn. The contradiction. A woman who moved through the world with the confidence of someone untouchable, yet didn’t think twice about scrambling over a wall like a reckless teenager. She had no business being this amusing.

The streets of Blackthorn Hills stretch endlessly before me, the glow of streetlights casting long, shifting shadows through the towering oak trees lining the roads.

This isn’t just a neighborhood—it’s a fortress of privilege, where wealth and power have been cultivated for generations. Each estate is hidden behind towering walls, iron gates standing like silent sentinels, their presence a clear warning to those who don’t belong.

The air here feels heavier, steeped in history and quiet brutality. Names hold weight in Blackthorn Hills, alliances are whispered behind closed doors, and every glance carries an unspoken understanding—outsiders don’t last here. And no one leaves without consequences.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel as the gates of Shadowlyn Mansion come into view, looming like something out of a nightmare. This is it. Time to settle in for the long game.

I slow the car as I approach the iron gates. One of the guards steps forward, his flashlight cutting through the dark like a beam of judgment. I roll down my window, meet his gaze. A quick glance at my ID and the gates creak open, allowing me to pass. No hesitation. He knows who I am, and I don't have to say another word.

I step out of the car and glance up at the mansion. It rises before me, an ancient sentinel of stone, both beautiful and imposing. The old stone walls, covered in carvings, make it look like it belongs in another time, while ivy climbs along the edges, trying to soften its cold appearance. The tall, arched windows catch the dim light, their detailed frames adding to the mystery of the place. The heavy wooden doors, dark and polished, have ornate iron handles that make them look grand.The manicured grounds stretch out around it, giving the mansion an almost eerie, timeless beauty.

And then a figure steps out from the shadows, cutting through the silence. Alex Carson.

He moves with a fluid grace, as if every step is calculated. His frame is tall, lean but with a certain power that radiates from him. Dressed in a dark, tailored suit-black with subtle pinstripes-it clings to his broad shoulders and tapers down to a trim waist. The sleeves are rolled up just enough to reveal his toned forearms, veins popping slightly, a testament to the strength hidden beneath his composed exterior. His black shirt underneath is open at the collar, hinting at a casual elegance that doesn't scream for attention, but demands it anyway.