The Tyrant's Stolen Bride-Chapter 128: Impossible to Escape

Lyra closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, holding back the storm of conflicted emotions inside her.

"Fine," she exhaled.

She stood up abruptly. The stool she had been sitting on scraped back and toppled over.

"Let’s go," she said to the maid.

The maid hurried to her feet and followed Lyra, relieved that Lyra still had some tolerance toward her.

"Let me guide you to the dining room," the maid said, stepping ahead of her.

"What’s your name?" Lyra asked.

"Meena... just call me Meena," she answered.

They descended the stairs, turned left, and headed toward the dining area.

As they stepped inside, the other maid offered a bow. Dante was already seated, having breakfast with Alex.

Alex immediately set down his cutlery and stood, hurrying toward Lyra. She did the same, darting past the maid and throwing her arms around her father.

She pulled back and cupped his face, then gripped his shoulders, examining him anxiously until her gaze dropped to his leg—where he had been shot.

"Your leg..." she said, concern flashing in her eyes.

Then her expression darkened. She shot a glare at Dante, who remained seated, eating leisurely, his attention fixed solely on his plate.

Alex caught her arm and shook his head. "It’s okay, just a graze."

He gestured toward the table. "Come on. Let’s eat."

"It’s fine. I don’t have an appetite," she replied. The very thought of eating at the same table as her kidnapper made her stomach churn.

"Lyra... no matter what, your body needs fuel," Alex said, meaning something deeper.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded faintly, understanding. They needed strength—if there was ever going to be a chance to escape.

Lyra followed Alex toward the dining table and was about to sit beside her father.

Dante lifted his fork and gestured calmly. "Sit here."

Lyra froze, her grip tightening on the chair.

The maid hurried forward and pulled out the chair Dante indicated, inviting Lyra to take the seat beside him.

"Please, madam," Meena said softly.

Lyra let out a small huff but took the seat, and the maids began placing breakfast on the table before her, every dish set neatly within her reach.

She eyed the fork carefully, then leaned in to sniff the food.

"What are you doing, madam?" Meena asked, puzzled by Lyra’s behavior.

"Testing it. Just in case there’s poison," she said, bitterness lacing her voice.

She was deliberately trying to provoke Dante, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he only chuckled.

He wanted her—poisoning her would make no sense.

Lyra picked up her cutlery and began to eat. She forced her throat to accept the food.

Dante, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the moment, quietly savoring breakfast with her.

He finished first. Setting his cutlery aside, he allowed the maid to clear his plate.

Dante took a sip from his glass, wiped his mouth, and shifted his gaze to Alex. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"After breakfast, rest in the west wing... I’m taking her to the village. If you need anything, call the maid or Griffin," he said calmly.

As soon as he finished his words, Lyra stabbed her food with her fork and made a small protesting sound.

Dante turned to her, one brow lifting. "What?" he asked, smiling.

"I want to take you to visit a place in that village," he added lightly.

She opened her mouth to protest, but Alex cut in first. "Just go," he said, reassuring her.

Lyra only sighed faintly. She finished her food quickly and left the table.

Meena hurried after her.

Dante rose from his chair.

"Griffin," he called.

"Yes, sir?" Griffin replied, bowing his head slightly.

"How’s your hand?" Dante asked as he gathered his things.

"It’s healing," Griffin answered.

Dante nodded, then turned to Alex. "Please take a look at Griffin’s injury."

Alex complied without hesitation. He treated wounds without caring whether the patient was good or bad.

Dante left the dining room and headed toward the front porch of the bungalow.

Lyra was already there, arms crossed, her foot tapping impatiently against the pavement.

An amused smile curved at his lips as he shook his head. He had never imagined she carried such a rough edge beneath the surface.

He stepped closer and grabbed her arm. She tried to shove him away, but he tightened his grip.

Lyra winced.

"Don’t try to fight," he warned quietly.

He hauled her into the four-wheel-drive jeep and pulled her into his arms, the door slamming shut behind them.

"Move your filthy hands off me," she spat, gripping his wrist where it held her waist.

Dante leaned closer. He seized her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Is this hand filthy to you? What about my lips?" he murmured.

Before she could react, he captured her lips. Lyra stiffened instantly, refusing the kiss, but Dante pressed harder, unrelenting.

Her hands shoved against his chest, struggling to break free.

The kiss lasted barely a minute, meant as a warning more than anything else, yet when he pulled back, Lyra was breathing hard, anger blazing in her eyes.

Their faces were still close when Dante spoke, his voice low. "Don’t try to fight me," he warned again.

He released her chin, his hand settling firmly at her waist.

"Let’s go," he told the driver. The jeep lurched forward.

Behind them, another jeep followed closely. Dante’s men inside, armed and alert, weapons ready to fire at any wild animals or enemies that might appear.

She turned her gaze beyond the window, trying to ease her discomfort.

Towering trees closed in around them, layers of green folding into one another.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching on the leaves and the earth below. She spotted large birds perched high above, her mouth parting slightly as the view captivated her.

Dante noticed the way she studied the scenery, and his expression softened.

He leaned closer, asking softly, "You like what you see?"

Lyra felt his breath brush against her ear as he spoke. A shiver ran through her, discomfort rising.

"I like the view," she said stiffly.

"But not you. Can’t you move a little farther away?"

Her brows knit in clear displeasure.

"No way," Dante replied, pulling her closer into his arms.

Lyra’s hand remained clenched around his wrist, afraid that if she let go, his hand would wander to other parts of her body.

She turned her gaze back to the view outside, tracing the forest carefully, searching for any possible route if she and Alex tried to run.

Her shoulders slumped as she bit her lower lip—the dense forest made escape seem impossible.