LUCIAN
I stepped back as the twins wriggled out of my grip and barreled straight into Corinne.
She caught them easily, both boys looping their arms around her neck like she was home.
Her eyes closed, a soft smile settling on her face as she rubbed slow circles into their backs.
“I missed you,” Eli mumbled into her neck, voice quiet.
“Missed you more, big boys,” she said, slipping right into that gentle coddling tone.
They were still baby talking and catching up like they haven’t seen each other in years when I moved closer, hands shoved deep into my pockets.
She straightened up when noticed me.
The smile on her face slipped instantly, replaced by that glare she reserved just for me as she nudged her glasses up her nose.
“Mr.
Delacroix,” she greeted.
“I heard you were sick.” I said instead, then let my gaze drag down her body slowly as she squirm uncomfortably.
“You look fine to me.”
”That would be due to advanced technology and medication,” she said smoothly, then added with pointed dryness, “I really do appreciate your deep concern for my health.”
I almost smiled.
Let’s see how long you keep that act up.
Isaac had messaged earlier to inform me he’d gotten some information on her and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on whatever that was.
“How was your weekend, Mr.
Delacroix?” she asked suddenly.
I narrowed my eyes.
Is she trying to catch me off guard or what?
“Why?”
She shrugged, too innocent to be believable.
“Nothing.
You just look… glowy.” She made small, ridiculous punching motions with her fists.
“Almost like you got some action.”
I scoffed out loud.
She gave me another fake ass smile and turned back to the boys.
“Alright, gentlemen, unless we’re planning to camp out here, we should head inside.”
She waited for the twins and I to say our byes, then she took their hands and led them toward the entrance, skipping along the way and laughing heartily.
I stood there longer than necessary, watching them disappear into the building before finally getting into the car.
Isaac was already waiting in my office when I walked in.
I gave him a brief nod, shrugged out of my coat, hung it on the rack, then took my seat and finally looked at him.
“Hit me,” I said.
“What did you find?”
He stepped forward and placed the folder on my desk.
I opened it, and the first thing staring back at me was a photograph—a professional one.
The face was unmistakable.
Corinne.
Only this version of her looked different.
Her hair was longer, lighter, pulled back into a sleek ponytail that exposed her features instead of softening them, it’s so contradictory to the short, loose waves she’s now spotting.
Her expression was sharp, eyes focused, mouth set like she was used to being listened to.
She looked composed and intense…and so different.
I stared at it longer than I meant to.
“Your suspicions were right,” Isaac said, pulling my attention up.
“Her real name is Lyra Flynn.”
I looked back at the picture, scanning it again.
“Why does she look like someone I should already know?” I finally asked.
“Because you do,” he replied.
“Or you should have.
She was a very well-known financial strategist and market analyst before she disappeared.
Top tier.
The best at what she did.”
I flipped the page.
Headlines.
Awards.
Conference panels.
Men in suits flanking her like accessories.
I frowned.
“Define top tier.”
”She consulted for major investment firms, private groups, high-net-worth clients and even government-adjacent organizations.
She built and broke portfolios for a living, specialized in long-term positioning and risk mitigation too.”
I flipped the page.
More documents.
Credentials.
Speaking engagements.
Articles referencing her work without ever putting her front and center.
“She had a reputation for seeing and reading the markets like weather patterns,” Isaac continued.
“Could predict crashes before they happened, trends most people didn’t catch until it was too late.
Companies hired her to fix problems they couldn’t afford to make public.”
I leaned back in my chair, the folder still open in front of me.
I’d suspected there was more to her, but this… this was bigger than I’d imagined.
Isaac didn’t give me time to sit with it.
“Do you remember the Halstead-Rivers acquisition in Chicago?” he asked.
“The one that nearly gutted the company five years ago?”
My jaw tightened.
How could I forget the mess one of my executives had caused then?
That shit almost triggered a federal review.
We were days away from losing major backers and watching our stock take a permanent hit.
“Yeah,” I said.
“What about it?”
”She was the one that fixed that.”
I straightened slightly.
“What do you mean?
I had more than three teams working on that.”
”She was brought in when the board had already prepared for damage control,” he said.
“Quietly of course and within two weeks, she restructured the acquisition and neutralized the exposure that would’ve sunk us.”
Well, paint me fucking intrigued now.
I looked back down at the file, flipping through it with new eyes, scanning the list of her accomplishments.
Crisis after crisis.
Each one bigger than the last.
This wasn’t just impressive.
So why?
Why walk away from this level of influence?
“Any family?” I asked.
Isaac shook his head slightly.
“She grew up in an orphanage in Brighton Hill.
Aged out of the system.
But she has a younger sibling under her care.
Took full responsibility for her.”
I frowned.
“Where’s the sibling now?”
”Final year at Columbia,” he said.
I leaned back slowly, my grip tightening on the arm of the chair.
Let me get this straight.
Corinne Sterling, the kindergarten teacher and the club stripper is actually the badass Lyra Flynn.
She’s an orphan.
She’s the sole guardian of a sibling.
She had a career and influence most people would kill for.
Influence.
So why the fuck was she hiding in Brooklyn under an alias?
“Why disappear?” I asked, the frustration bleeding into my voice.
“Why throw all of that away?”
”I’ve asked around,” Isaac said.
“But the reason behind her sudden exit from the industry remains unknown.
People just stopped hearing from her.”
He hesitated, then added, “But I found something else.”
My eyes lifted.
“What?”
”She’d been engaged,” he said.
“To Nathan Caldwell.”
My brows shot up.
“Nathan Caldwell?”
”Yes.”
Everyone knows Nathan Caldwell.
He’s well connected, well funded and the slimiest, most self-serving bastard to ever slap on a tailored suit.
Isaac kept going.
“Apparently, he called off the engagement right around the time she disappeared.
Three years ago.”
My mind started moving, pieces sliding into place.
“Was it sometime around May?” I asked.
Isaac paused.
“Yeah.
Early May.
How did you know?”
I didn’t answer.
Because my thoughts had already gone somewhere else.
To that night I swore never to think about.
To three years ago.
To the bar I’d walked into without thinking.
To the woman with longer hair and eyes full of hurt.
And to the alley where I’d kissed a sobbing Lyra Flynn…