Lyla Monroe (Nova Kingsley)
“And that is it for this meeting,” I said, straightening the hem of my blazer as I stood at the head of the conference table. The sunlight poured through the glass windows of my California office, warm and bright, casting long shadows across the polished floor. “I’ll have my assistant follow up with each department head regarding next steps.”
I had been in California for two days, catching up with my team, reviewing contracts, and putting out fires like always. It felt good being back. This office, unlike the cold steel walls of Luca’s New York skyscraper, felt like mine. This was me.
As the chairs scraped against the floor and people began to leave, one of the investors lingered. Mr. Halvorsen, a sharp man in his sixties with icy blue eyes and a pocket square that probably cost more than my flight. “Nova,” he said, “with the push into Latin America, what’s your personal take on the risk levels?”
I smiled and leaned lightly against the table. “Well, risk is always a factor. But if we partner with local firms and lead with cultural sensitivity, not corporate arrogance, we have a real chance of creating something sustainable.”
He nodded slowly. “I like that answer.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’ve already started those conversations.”
He chuckled and walked out. I exhaled and sank back into my chair.
God, I missed this. The power. The control. The feeling that I was making my own mark.
But now, it was time to leave again.
I left the office and headed straight for the family estate. The moment I stepped through the old wooden doors, a warm scent of jasmine and fresh bread welcomed me like an old friend.
Delilah was already setting the table. “You’re here!” she smiled, opening her arms to hug me.
“Of course I’m here,” I said, laughing as I hugged her back. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”
We sat at the dining table, just the two of us. The silverware clinked softly as we ate.
“So… how’s married life?” she asked, pouring me a glass of fresh juice.
I sighed. “Strange.”
Delilah raised an eyebrow. “Strange how?”
“He’s not what I expected, that’s for sure,” I murmured, stirring my food with my fork. “He’s not warm or affectionate, but he’s not exactly cold anymore, either. There’s… something there. Something quiet. Something I can’t explain.”
Delilah tilted her head. “Maybe he’s learning to feel safe.”
“Maybe,” I whispered.
After lunch, I changed into something more comfortable and packed my dress and heels for the banquet into a garment bag. My driver was already waiting to take me to the private airstrip. The jet was prepped and ready.
I boarded, sat by the window, and stared at the clouds as we ascended. Even though Luca hadn’t said much, I knew tonight was important. Not just because of the event, but because he told me earlier that we’d be visiting his mother before the banquet.
My heart clenched. She knows me as Lyla.
Not Nova.
When I landed in New York, the city greeted me with its usual glow. The driver was waiting as always. We didn’t talk much during the ride back.
As soon as I stepped into the apartment, I saw Luca by the kitchen counter. He was dressed in black slacks and a button-up, rolling up the sleeves. A bouquet of red tulips lay on the counter next to a carefully packed meal box.
I dropped my bag in my room and walked back out.
“How are you?” I asked softly.
“I’m good,” he said, not looking at me. “Hurry up. We’re late.”
I nodded, grabbing my coat.
He picked up the tulips and the food, and we headed out to the car. The drive was silent, but not uncomfortable. The tension between us had softened over the past few weeks. It still wasn’t love, but it wasn’t war either.
When we arrived at the facility, I followed Luca closely. My stomach twisted in knots.
His mother was already waiting in the cozy common room, wrapped in a lavender shawl, eyes fluttering toward the door.
“Hi, Daniel,” she said sweetly, smiling at her son.
Luca sighed softly. “Hi, Mom. It’s Luca. Not Daniel.”
She blinked, confused for a second. Then smiled again.
Luca cleared his throat. “Mom, I want you to meet someone. This is…”
He looked at me, then back at her. “This is Nova Kingsley. My wife.”
I stepped forward, heart racing. “Hello, it’s lovely to meet you, ma’am.”
His mother squinted. Her eyes studied my face slowly.
And then she said it. “Lyla?”
Luca stiffened beside me.
“No, Mom,” he said gently. “This is Nova. Not Lyla.”
His mother tilted her head, still staring straight at me. “No… this is Lyla. I can see it. Those beautiful, kind eyes.”
I froze.
My heart dropped to my stomach. She remembers me.
I looked at Luca out of the corner of my eye. His expression didn’t change, but I felt something shift in the air. Panic crept in slowly.
“No,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m Nova. Nova Kingsley.”
His mother just smiled again. “Of course, dear.”
Just when Luca opened his mouth to say something, his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. He pulled it out.
I blinked, trying to keep my breathing steady. I looked down at my own phone. It was buzzing too. Unknown caller. I hesitated, then picked up.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end was cold. Steady. Too steady.
“This is Dr. Patel from the island clinic,” the woman said. “I’m so sorry to inform you, Miss Kingsley… your father passed away this morning.”
Everything stopped.
The world around me dulled. My heartbeat slowed. The phone slipped from my fingers. Luca was suddenly in front of me. “Nova? What’s wrong? What happened?”
I stared at the wall, my voice barely audible.
“My father… he died.”
