Episode 3: Knives Behind Smiles

Episode 3 – Knives Behind Smiles

The first thing Lyra noticed was silence.

Not the kind that soothed, but the kind that listened.

She blinked awake, the faint glow of morning slipping through heavy velvet curtains. Her body ached from yesterday’s battle with the devil himself, but her spirit still burned with defiance.

A soft knock echoed.

Before she could answer, the door creaked open and a woman glided in like a shadow dipped in silk.

Maya.

She was everything Lyra wasn’t—flawless, poised, wrapped in elegance. Her black gown clung to her curves, her hair cascading in polished waves. A smile curved her lips, warm on the surface but frozen in her eyes.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she said, voice lilting like a lullaby. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Lyra pushed herself up, the blanket slipping down her shoulder. “Who are you?”

“I’m Maya.” She placed a silver tray on the table. Steam curled from a porcelain teacup. “A… friend of Rhazeal’s. He asked me to make you comfortable.”

Friend.

The word stung. For a heartbeat, Lyra imagined Rhazeal laughing with this elegant snake, sharing secrets with her. But her instincts whispered louder: this woman was dangerous.

“I don’t need comfort,” Lyra said, voice flat.

Maya’s smile sharpened. “Of course you do, darling. You’re in a strange house, all alone… except for him.” She walked closer, her perfume a mix of roses and poison. “Drink this. It will help you regain your strength.”

Lyra hesitated. Her fingers brushed the cup but didn’t lift it.

Then—drip.

A single bead of tea slipped over the rim, landing on the marble floor. It hissed softly, leaving a faint dark mark.

Lyra’s eyes widened. She looked up, but Maya was already smiling wider, like a cat catching a bird’s twitch.

“Oh dear,” she said sweetly, dabbing at the drop with a handkerchief. “Clumsy me. Perhaps it’s… a bit strong for you.”

Her gaze flickered, almost daring Lyra to challenge her.

Lyra’s heart pounded, but she said nothing.

Rhazeal’s POV:

From the shadows of the balcony above, he had seen it all.

The hiss of the tea. The cold calculation in Maya’s eyes.

He had trusted Maya once. She had served him for years, always loyal, always waiting for his attention. He had given her power, wealth, and freedom—everything but his heart.

Now he saw it: the hunger, the jealousy, the betrayal.

And the little warrior on the bed below… the one who refused to kneel… the one who made him feel something he thought he’d buried centuries ago…

No one touches her.

That night, the mansion came alive with chandeliers and polished silver.

Rhazeal called for a private dinner in the grand hall. Lyra sat stiffly at his right, her crimson dress catching the firelight. Maya glided in to his left, a living painting of elegance.

Conversation flowed, servants moved, and the table sparkled with gold and crystal. But under the table, a storm brewed.

Lyra felt it first—a prickle down her spine.

Then, a faint sound. The scrape of metal.

Her eyes flicked downward and caught the glint of a jeweled dagger slipping from Maya’s sleeve.

Time slowed.

Before Lyra could react, Maya’s hand moved—aiming for the girl she hated with silent, perfect precision.

A shadow swept in faster than lightning.

Rhazeal’s hand shot out, gripping Maya’s wrist.

The dagger halted inches from Lyra’s thigh.

The hall fell silent. Even the fire seemed to hold its breath.

“Maya,” Rhazeal said softly, dangerously. His black eyes burned like coals. “You dare raise a hand… in my house?”

Maya froze. Her mask cracked for the first time, venom flashing in her eyes.

“She’s ruining everything,” she hissed. “I’ve loved you, served you—”

“You tried to kill her.”

The words rumbled like thunder.

Lyra’s heart pounded, shock and something strange—safety—washing over her as Rhazeal stood between her and the world.

He twisted Maya’s wrist just enough to make her drop the dagger. It clattered against the marble.

“You will not touch her,” he said, his voice a velvet blade. “Not now. Not ever.”

Maya’s breath hitched. “She’s nothing—”

“She,” Rhazeal interrupted coldly, “is mine to protect.”

The hall trembled with the weight of his words.

Maya stumbled back, rage breaking through her polished smile. Guards appeared at the doorway, summoned by a single flick of Rhazeal’s hand.

“Take her to the east wing,” he ordered. “She will not leave this house until I decide what to do with her.”

Maya screamed his name, but Rhazeal didn’t flinch.

Instead, he turned to Lyra.

“Are you hurt?”

Lyra shook her head, though her fingers still trembled. For the first time since this nightmare began, she felt safe in his shadow.

His hand brushed her cheek, almost tender.

“I told you, little warrior,” he murmured. “No one will harm you while I breathe.”

And for the first time, she believed him.

Would you forgive someone who once wanted to kill you if they smiled the next day? And is Lyra really safe now… or is Maya just getting started?

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