Lyra felt like she was watching the scene unfold from outside her body. The marriage certificate still glowed on the massive screen, casting a pale blue light over the stunned faces of the guests. Two years. The date was unmistakable.
Eleanor Croft stood before her, eyes pleading for answers Lyra wasn't sure she had. The woman who had shown her kindness all these years now looked at her like a stranger.
"Is this true?" Eleanor asked again, her voice barely audible over the rising murmurs of the crowd.
Percival's hand remained firmly at Lyra's back, his touch both protective and possessive.
"Yes," Lyra finally said, finding her voice. "It's true."
Eleanor's shoulders sagged. "All this time..."
Before Lyra could respond, a shrill voice cut through the tension.
"This is ridiculous!" Isabelle Sinclair pushed her way forward, her face twisted with malice. "Everyone knows Lyra Moreau is nothing but a bastard from the slums. How dare you pretend to be worthy of the Covington name?"
