Chapter 5 A Game Of Secrets

• Tara sat at the table, finishing the last bite of the meal Lyon had made, though she wouldn’t admit how much she appreciated it. The tension between them lingered like a ghost, thick in the air despite the quiet clinking of silverware. She pushed the empty plate forward before standing up from her chair, her expression unreadable, her voice calm but edged with command.
• Tara: "That’s enough playing house. Get back to the manor, Lyon. You don’t belong here."
• Lyon followed her into the kitchen, leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, his signature smirk firmly in place.
• Lyon: "Oh, but I do. You just haven’t realized it yet. Or maybe you just don’t want to accept it."
• Tara’s gaze sharpened.
• Tara: "Don’t test me." Her voice dropped, laced with quiet warning. "You’ve had your fun. Now leave."
• But Lyon didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her as if he could see something beneath the mask she wore even without it on.
• Lyon: "You’re always so quick to push me away, sis. Why? Afraid I might actually see the cracks in your armor? Or maybe you’re scared I already have."
• Tara’s hands curled into fists, but she forced herself to stay composed, her tone razor-sharp.
• Tara: "I’m not scared of anything. Least of all you."
• Lyon’s smirk widened, though his voice softened, almost coaxing.
• Lyon: "If you weren’t scared, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to get rid of me. Face it, sis, you’re better at keeping secrets than keeping people, but still, I got some of them."
• Her jaw clenched, her reply swift and sharp.
• Tara: "People get in the way. People die. That’s the truth of this world, and a brutal one, Lyon. You’re better off back at the manor where it’s safe."
• Lyon let out a chuckle, shaking his head.
• Lyon: "Safe? Do you really mean it? And if you do, then tell me—safe from whom? Look, sis, we both know you don’t want me back at the manor. You just want me out of your way, out of your sight. But here’s the thing—you don’t get to decide where I belong. I’m staying with you."
• Tara’s eyes darkened, her voice turning as cold as steel.
• Tara: "You’re playing a dangerous game, little brother."
• Lyon stepped forward, unfazed, his grin unwavering.
• Lyon: "Danger is in our blood, isn’t it? Besides, who’s better to watch your back than the guy who knows some of your secrets?"
• Tara didn’t answer. Instead, she turned, walking toward the window, the dim city lights reflecting off the glass. Her own face stared back at her—a face she barely recognized without the mask.
• Tara: "Suit yourself, then. But don’t expect me to save you when you step into the fire."
• Lyon’s voice followed her, light but laced with something deeper.
• Lyon: "You’ve been saving me my whole life, sis. Maybe it’s time I return the favor."
• She froze for half a second before exhaling, regaining her composure. And then, he pushed further.
• Lyon’s words dripped with charm, his voice coated in an almost innocent sweetness, but beneath it was something far more cunning—blackmail disguised as persuasion.
• Lyon: "You know, sis, I could keep your secret. I could pretend I don’t know where you go when you disappear without your mask, who you become when you leave this world behind... Or—" He shrugged, that smirk creeping back. "I could let it slip. Purely by accident, of course."
• Tara turned slowly, her expression dangerously calm, her voice steady but sharp as a blade.
• Tara: "You seem to have forgotten who you’re dealing with, Lyon."
• The warning was subtle but lethal.
• Lyon laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender.
• Lyon: "Oh no, sis, how could I ever forget? Those bloodstains on your gloves, that mask you wear—it never lets me. A constant reminder of exactly who you are." His eyes glinted with mischief. "But let’s be clear—I’m not blackmailing you. I’m just... suggesting a trade. A little payment for keeping my lips sealed."
• Tara’s lips curled into a smirk as she leaned forward, amusement flashing through her dark gaze.
• Tara: "A trade? Interesting." She paused, her voice lowering to a near-whisper. "Well, as your older sister, let me make you a counteroffer. Go ahead—expose my secret. But if you do, I’ll make sure the old man finds out about those ‘pathetic’ comics you’ve been working on. The ones you’ve been hiding from him."
• Lyon blinked. His smirk faltered.
• Tara: "Your dream of seeing them published? It’ll die before it ever begins." Her voice was a silken threat. "Mark my words, you’ll never even find the ashes."
• Lyon groaned, his confident posture cracking for the first time.
• Lyon: "You’re kidding, right? You’d blackmail me over my comics? That’s just cruel."
• Tara leaned back, her smirk deepening.
• Tara: "Oh, how quickly the tables turn."
• Lyon threw up his hands.
• Lyon: "Fine, fine! I won’t say anything. But I still want to come with you. Just this once."
• Tara raised a brow, intrigued now.
• Tara: "Oh? And this is your brilliant way of asking?" She tilted her head. "You’ve grown bold, little brother. Alright, then. Spit it out. What’s this ‘important’ thing you need to tell me?"
• Lyon hesitated. For a moment, something unspoken flickered behind his playful expression.
• Lyon: "You know, sis, you should smile more often."
• Tara’s amusement faded instantly.
• Lyon: "You look... different when you do. I don’t see it enough." His voice softened. "It suits you."
• Her expression froze, any trace of warmth vanishing. When she spoke again, her tone was ice.
• Tara: "Lyon, if that’s all, we’re done here. But somehow, I doubt it is. So cut the pleasantries and get to the point. You’ve got five minutes."
• Lyon sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets.
• Lyon: "I’ll save the rest for the ride."
• He started toward the door but hesitated.
• Lyon: "I’ll meet you downstairs."
• Tara nodded.
• Tara: "I’ll need five minutes to change. And Lyon..." She hesitated, then exhaled. "While we’re there, don’t call me ‘sis.’ Just... don’t."
• Lyon gave her a knowing look, a hint of a smile lingering at the edges of his lips.
• Lyon: "Got it."
• Then he was gone. Tara stared at the closed door, her reflection in the window watching her with an expression she didn’t recognize. "You should smile more."
• She let out a slow breath, shaking the thought away. She had more important things to worry about than smiles. She turned toward her closet, her fingers grazing the sleek fabric of her mask. A familiar weight settled over her as she prepared for what lay ahead. The day was far from over yet and still .