Lyla Monroe (Nova Kingsley)
I should’ve told him last night.
I had every intention to. Right after dinner. Right after I played the piano. Right after the slow dance in the living room that made my heart beat in places it hadn’t in years.
But then we laughed. Then we kissed.
Then I ended up asleep next to him, head on his shoulder, breath tangled in his.
And now… now Luca was standing in my bedroom.
In my childhood room. With the black wig in one hand. My old glasses in the other.
He looked at me like the puzzle pieces had just clicked together in his mind—like he’d been solving a riddle for months and finally saw the full picture.
“I wanted to tell you,” I whispered, barely breathing.
His brows were furrowed, lips parted like he didn’t know what to say first. “But… why?” he finally asked.
I stepped forward slowly. “Because I wanted to make a name for myself. Not as Carter Kingsley’s daughter. I wanted to prove I could do something on my own. That I wasn’t just a spoiled heiress riding on my father’s legacy.”
He still stared at me, the confusion in his face softening into something else—something between shock and understanding. “So all this time… you were Lyla. You worked for me for two years, and you never told me?”
“I was scared,” I admitted, voice shaking. “I didn’t know how to tell you without it blowing everything up. At first, it was just… temporary. A way to see how far I could go without my last name. But then it became something more. The contract marriage happened. You became something more.”
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. “Is that why you know me so well?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah. That’s why I know exactly how you like your sandwich, why I know your favorite brand of coffee, and how you hate being interrupted during meetings. Why I knew where the bathroom was at your company… and why I knew your mother loves red tulips.”
Luca chuckled under his breath, almost in disbelief. “God… that’s why you felt so familiar. That’s why my mom kept calling you Lyla.”
He shook his head, eyes wide. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.”
I shrugged, half embarrassed. “Sounds like you never really paid attention to Lyla.”
He looked at me with something unreadable in his eyes—regret, maybe. Surprise. Affection.
“Still…” he said quietly. “You married me.”
I looked up at him, scared of what he meant.
He met my gaze. “And I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?”
“Should I be?” he asked with a half smile. “A little shocked, maybe. I mean… I married my former secretary in an arranged business deal. That’s a first. But mad? No. What is there to be mad about?”
He took a step closer.
“I’m the idiot who never looked close enough to see who was right in front of me.”
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.
Then, slowly, he walked over to me. Still holding the wig, he set it down on the vanity table.
And then he wrapped his arms around me.
I didn’t even realize how badly I needed it until his arms were around my waist and his chin rested gently against my shoulder.
It wasn’t just a hug. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t polite.
It was home.
He felt like home.
Not the house I grew up in. Not the estate with the chandeliers and long hallways. No.
Him.
The way his heartbeat thumped against mine. The way he didn’t pull away too quickly. The way his arms molded around me like I was made to fit there.
“I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “I had you all along. And I didn’t even know it.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his shirt. “I really am.”
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes.
“Don’t be,” he said. “You showed me more of yourself than anyone ever has. Even when you were hiding behind a wig and glasses… you were still more real than anyone else I’ve ever met. And I’m sorry for being such an ass to Lyla.”
Tears stung the corners of my eyes.
“How are you so calm about this?” I asked.
“Because,” he said, brushing a hair from my cheek, “no matter what name you use—Lyla or Nova—you’re still the same woman who told me stories when I couldn’t sleep. The one who knew when I needed caffeine and when I needed silence.”
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling.
“And for what it’s worth,” he added, “I’m glad it was you all along.”
That’s when the tears finally fell. Not out of sadness. Not out of regret. But out of pure, overwhelming relief. Because even though I kept the truth from him…
He still chose me.
Wig. Glasses. Lyla. Nova. All of me.
30
