CHAPTER 164: PREPARATION

They spent hours at The Cloisters. If not for the spa session they had scheduled—and the weariness that had finally crept into Ephyra’s bones after a full day of walking—they might have stayed until the sun dipped below the Hudson.

Lyle had to let her lean against him as they made their way to the wellness suite. Its softly lit corridors carried the scent of eucalyptus and lavender, each step into the space like a descent into some hushed, luxurious underworld.

The staff and the head of the wellness suite greeted them with warm, practiced smiles. The head therapist—a tall woman with salt-gray braids and a crisp linen tunic—bowed slightly to Lyle before speaking.

"Welcome to Aether Serenity," she said over the soft ambient music drifting through the air. "You’ll be receiving our signature dual-session. Mrs. Aelion will undergo the Stone Rebalance, while you, sir, will experience Stillness Therapy. These sessions are designed individually, but they harmonize the body’s energies when taken together."

She gestured with ease, continuing, "You’ll be served in separate rooms to allow for complete immersion. Please, follow us."

Two attendants stepped forward. One gently supported Ephyra by the elbow as the head therapist herself guided her through a softly glowing corridor veiled with sheer golden drapes.

Lyle remained behind, watching her disappear from view.

After a brief pause, the youngest of the spa staff—a girl barely in her twenties, nerves fluttering beneath her professional exterior—approached him. She gave a shallow bow, then turned to lead him down a quiet hallway lit with recessed amber light.

The tension in her shoulders was obvious. She walked carefully, stealing subtle glances at him every few steps as though bracing for an order or a reprimand. Just as they reached the door to his private chamber—a dim, obsidian-lit space that hummed with a dry, ambient heat—she turned to leave with another bow.

But his voice, low and icy, stopped her cold.

"Tell your superior," he said without turning his head, "that as soon as Ephyra’s session ends, you’ll inform me. And you’ll end mine. Immediately."

She froze mid-step. Her breath caught. Then, slowly, she looked up and met his eyes—just for a second.

"Yes, sir," she whispered, nodding quickly before retreating.

The door clicked shut behind him.

———

Ephyra was in a floating state of mind, releasing all her worries, thoughts, pain, and what-ifs. The warmth of the stones aligned along her spine lulled her into a calm she hadn’t felt in years.

As the session neared its end, the therapist stood silently at her side, her hands gliding gently over Ephyra’s back.

Then, from that hazy place between thought and speech, Ephyra asked, "If a decision not only causes pain to you, but also to the one you don’t want to hurt—yet it still has to be made—how does one prepare for it?"

The woman paused, her fingertips stilling. "Is it preparation you’re seeking," she asked gently, "or permission to lessen the pain?"

Ephyra smiled faintly. "Not to compensate. Neither of us owes the other."

The woman let out a quiet sigh, almost inaudible. "Then don’t do anything."

⸻

Thirty minutes later, the final touches of the facial—deep cleansing and hydration—were completed. Ephyra lingered in the relaxation lounge for a while, sipping citrus-infused water and watching the golden light shift across the ceiling. Eventually, she dressed in the long wrap gown provided by the spa and stepped out into the corridor.

As she looked up, she saw Lyle standing there, waiting for her.

Her heart fluttered, then settled. She hadn’t expected him to be there. Let alone waiting.

He held out his hand. "Let’s go. You need to get ready for dinner."

The soft fabric of the wrap gown swayed gently around her ankles as she walked toward him, the scent of sandalwood and rose still lingering from the oils used in her session.

She reached out and slid her hand into his. It was warm. Grounded.

He didn’t say anything else. Just turned and began walking again, leading her through the softly lit corridor. The hallway lights glowed, casting gentle shadows on the marble floor.

Ephyra glanced sideways at him.

...

Ephyra stepped into the hotel room and closed the door behind her, exhaling softly. With barely a pause, she grabbed the tablet off the bedside table and tapped into a video call.

The screen blinked once, then Jania appeared—already tying her hair into a loose bun.

"I just finished the massage," Ephyra said, sinking onto the edge of the bed, voice pleasantly drowsy. "And it was very relaxing."

Jania snorted and rolled her eyes. "Well, I told you. That spa has a 97% success rate in converting stubborn workaholics into melted marshmallows. You really needed it."

Ephyra smiled. "Yeah, yeah. You were right. Again."

Jania smirked. "You calling because you’re trying to figure out what to wear for dinner?"

Ephyra nodded. "I think the dresses have already been delivered. Wait, I’ll check the wardrobe."

She padded across the suite, her bare feet soundless on the soft carpet. Swinging open the wardrobe doors, she found two carefully hung dresses waiting.

She pulled them both out and held them in front of the tablet propped up on the table. "So, what do you think? Which one should I go for?"

In her right hand was a white dress with a dreamy vintage silhouette—fitted lace sleeves, a high neckline, and a skirt that flowed like moonlight. In her left, a blush-pink piece with a bolder cut.

Jania gave them both a glance before saying flatly, "Just choose whichever you want."

Ephyra blinked. "That’s it? No opinion or thoughts?"

Jania chuckled. "I already know whatever you wear, you’ll look like a goddess. So stop fishing and go get dressed."

Ephyra snorted and looked between the two dresses, tipping her head side to side like a curious owl. Then finally, she smiled and held up the pink one. "Alright. I’m feeling like a princess tonight."

She returned the white dress to the wardrobe, then draped the blush-pink gown carefully over the bed.

Crossing to the table, she opened the velvet box of accessories—classic pearls: a choker necklace and delicate drop earrings.

From another case, she picked out her heels—nude patent stilettos with pearl accents on the ankle strap.

———

As she stood before the mirror, Ephyra began styling her hair. Her fingers worked with familiarity, curling and pinning the strands until they formed a voluminous updo, the soft ringlets arranged like a halo crowning her head. Loose curls kissed her temples and the nape of her neck, giving her the kind of effortless grace that usually took two stylists and a prayer.

Her dress—blush pink, one-shouldered—clung to her torso, hugging her waist before flaring into a pleated skirt that swayed gently. The cascade of fabric from her shoulder fell like a silk waterfall, giving her an almost Grecian allure. The color caught the soft evening light pouring in from the suite windows, giving her an ethereal glow.

She slid on the pearl necklace, fastened the earrings, and finally stepped into her heels.

She gave herself one final look in the full-length mirror, then smirked faintly.

"Alright," she murmured to herself. "Let’s go knock him unconscious."

She picked up her clutch and moved toward the door.

...

The elevator glided up in smooth silence, its golden paneling catching Ephyra’s reflection as she stood, calm on the outside but feeling the tiniest flutter of nerves beneath her skin. Two bodyguards and a staff attendant stood in front of her, leading the way.

The attendant turned slightly, her voice soft. "We’ll be stepping out onto the 42nd floor terrace shortly. It’s completely private. Mr. Aelion is waiting."

Ephyra nodded. "Thank you."

When the elevator doors parted, they were met with a quiet hallway trimmed in brushed brass and deep mahogany. The air was faintly perfumed with jasmine and citrus. A few steps later, the attendant opened a tall glass door and gestured for Ephyra to step through.

The bodyguards stayed behind.

As she stepped onto the rooftop terrace, the world shifted.

The wind caught the hem of her dress, making the pleats ripple like water. The evening had settled into a perfect golden dusk—soft blue sky bleeding into violet and rose, the city skyline glittering. Twinkling string lights hung overhead, and the rooftop had been transformed into something that felt more like a dream.

Lyle stood at the far end of the terrace, his back partially turned to her as he gazed out over the skyline. He wore a black tailored dinner jacket, open at the collar, the fabric catching the light. His silhouette—broad shoulders, precise posture—looked carved from shadow and firelight.

Then he turned.

And when he saw her—

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His eyes—usually cold—widened the barest fraction, and something in his jaw slackened.

Ephyra stepped forward slowly, her heels making the softest sound against the stone tiles. Her blush-pink gown glowed in the twilight, and the updo framed her face like a crown. Her pearl earrings caught the light with every step.

Lyle took a step forward as well—then another. He stopped in front of her and just stared.