The train
- Reads 144
- Votes 26
- Parts 12
We have been speaking for over 2 months and this was the second time we were alone without Rose.
"Why are you lying, Lyra?" He asked me, his voice low. "You tense up when you're thinking hard or nervous. Your cheeks grew a light red. What are you thinking about?"
I looked at him and to my surprise, his brown eyes were watching me with a tint of softness in them. "Why did you tell her, Ivan?" I asked him, feeling defeated at this point. This train ride was ending in about 45 minutes.
He moved himself a little away from me and sighed. "I... I don't know, Lyra. I should have never told her let alone even kiss you." I watched his neck as he swallowed hard as if he was trying to bury something deep inside.
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Join Lyra as she goes through her first year in adulthood in a new country alone with nothing but her heart guiding her.
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My grief is a lie. His guilt a weapon. And remembering will destroy whoever I used to love. Maybe this was it. Maybe she had already crossed the line between the living and the lost. The thought of reuniting with Alexei, of seeing him again, wherever he was, felt less terrifying than stepping through that door to meet his killer. Death, at least, would have been merciful. Forget everything you think you know about mafia romance. This isn't a story about an innocent girl stumbling into a dangerous world. Claire lived in that world, she just can't remember how... or what it cost her. A love story where the deepest betrayal may be the one you inflict on yourself. Fair warning: this book will break you, reshape you, and leave you desperate for answers you're too afraid to face. ⚠️ Content Disclaimer ⚠️ This work contains mature themes and potentially triggering content, including but not limited to: violence, death, emotional abuse, manipulation, trauma, sexual tension, and morally complex relationships. Copyright Disclaimer © MaryRose 2025 This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and settings are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental. No part of this story may be copied, reproduced, or distributed in any form without the author's signed authorization.
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