Angela was already seated at the table, her hands resting neatly on her lap. Her presence was calm—still. She looked up at him, and for the first time that day, the pressure in his chest lightened.
"Did I make you wait long?" he asked.
She smiled, teasing. "Come on! This is your house—your rules."
He chuckled, the sound surprising even himself. "Fair point," he said, sliding into the seat across from her. "Still, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."
Angela's eyes sparkled. "I wasn't waiting long, I promise. Besides, Mrs. Jones kept me company. She's lovely."
"She is," Lyan agreed, glancing toward the kitchen. "She's been with the family for years. Honestly, sometimes I think she knows this place better than I do."
Angela laughed lightly. "It must be nice—having someone that dependable around."
Mrs. Jones entered with practiced grace, carrying two steaming plates. The rich aroma of seasoned meat and roasted vegetables filled the air.
"Here we are," she said with a warm smile. "I hope you both enjoy."
"Thank you, Mrs. Jones," Angela said warmly. "Everything looks incredible."
Lyan offered a grateful nod. "As always."
Once Mrs. Jones left, the room quieted. Angela took her first bite, closing her eyes briefly in appreciation.
But Lyan's mind wasn't settled.
"Who told you I was born with a fork in my mouth?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Angela blinked, then quickly shook her head. "I didn't mean it that way," she said softly. "It's just—everything here feels so perfect. You seem like someone who's always had things together."
Lyan leaned back, resting his fork on the edge of his plate. His smile faded.
"If you saw the chaos it took to get here," he said quietly, "you'd think twice about calling it perfect."
Angela tilted her head. "Chaos?"
"Yeah..." he began, but the words never fully formed.
A loud noise cut through the evening calm—sharp voices outside. Lyan froze.
He didn't need to guess.
His instincts surged, eyes narrowing as he pushed his chair back sharply.
Angela looked up in alarm. "What's going on?"
He raised a hand. "Stay here," he said, already moving toward the front entrance.
By the time he stepped outside, the source of the commotion was clear.
Two guards stood tense, blocking the path to the main house. Behind them, arms crossed and chin raised, stood Tania Robinson.
"What's going on?" Lyan asked, his tone clipped.
The head of security turned, his expression strained. "Sir, Ms. Robinson refused to leave. We informed her of your instructions, but—"
"I heard him," Tania cut in, her voice bright with sarcasm. "But you know me, Lyan. I don't exactly follow rules. Especially when it comes to us."
Lyan's gaze snapped to hers, his jaw tight. "What part of 'don't come here' did you not understand?"
She shrugged, letting her hair fall dramatically over one shoulder. "Oh, come on. Don't act like we're strangers. I came here because you won't answer my calls. I think we both know that means it's time for a face-to-face."
"There is no us," Lyan said, voice low and unwavering. He turned to his guards. "Stand down. I'll handle this."
They hesitated, then stepped aside.
Tania wasted no time stepping forward. "Five minutes?" she scoffed. "Please. I'm not here to talk, Lyan. I'm here to stay. We need to reconnect. You and I—"
"If you don't leave," he said evenly, "I'll consider this trespassing."
She lifted her chin. "You forget whose daughter I am. You think you can just shut me out? After everything my father's done for you?"
"Ohhh wow! See?" Lyan said, raising his eyebrows, a bitter smile curling at the edge of his mouth. "This—right here—is exactly what I don't want. The only word that ever comes out of your mouth is pity. And the help your father gave me like it's a leash you all get to yank."
Tania's eyes flashed. "It's not pity, Lyan. It's history. It's connection. We've known each other for years—you think that doesn't count for anything?"
"It counts," he said. "Just not in the way you want it to."
She took a step closer. "You're running from me. From us. You're afraid of what this could mean—"
"No," he said sharply. "I'm not afraid. I'm just... done pretending there's something between us when there never was. I don't want a relationship where you'll have to remind me of your father's help. Who your father is and what he could do to me."
"Okay, I'm sorry," Tania said quickly, her voice dropping. "I won't mention it again."
Lyan's eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't move, didn't soften. "It's not just about what you say, Tania. It's about what you carry. Every time you walk into a room, it's like a reminder—of what I owe, of what I was, of who you expect me to be."
She frowned. "So, what? I'm just a symbol now? Some walking guilt trip?"
"You said it, not me," he replied, tone clipped. "I don't feel anything for you, Tan."
The nickname—so familiar, so casual—landed harder than any insult. Because it was the truth.
"You're like a sister to me. That's all."
Tania flinched.
"Yes, your father helped me. Yes, he became a father figure when I had no one. And yes, I said I'd marry you. I did. But so what?" His voice was firm now, stripped of pity or apology. "I have zero feelings for you. Not the kind you want. Not the kind you deserve."
Tania opened her mouth, but no words came. She closed it again, eyes wet now—not with tears, but with rage, maybe. Or heartbreak. Or both.
"You make it sound so simple," she said finally, voice low and trembling. "Like I made everything up. Like I was just some placeholder in your life."
"You weren't a placeholder," Lyan said. "You were... there. During some of the worst moments. But I never promised love, Tania. I just didn't know how to say no back then."
Her shoulders tensed. "But you do now."
He nodded. "I do now."
Silence fell between them again, thick and final.
Tania stepped back, brushing a hand through her hair. Her voice, when it came again, was colder. Controlled. "So this is it?"
Lyan met her gaze without flinching. "It is."
"So, what do you want me to do?" Tania's voice rose, the composure cracking. "Accept the rejection and leave you alone after loving you for more than ten years? You want me to accept that you don't love me—after making me wait for all this time?"
She took a step toward him, fists clenched at her sides. "Do you even hear yourself, Lyan?"
Lyan's expression didn't falter, but his voice was quieter now. "I hear you. I do. But I never asked you to wait."
Tania laughed bitterly, eyes glistening. "You didn't have to. I waited because I believed in you."
Tania's voice cracked under the weight of her fury and heartbreak. "You told my father you'd marry me when things got better for your company—and they did. Do you want me to remind you of your exact words?"
"I told him what he wanted to hear because I didn't have a choice then," he replied. "But I'm not that boy anymore."
She stepped even closer, her finger pointing at his chest. "You promised him, Lyan. Promised. And no—you are not going back on your word. I won't allow it."
"Tania…"
"No!" she shouted. "I didn't waste my youth on you for nothing! I gave you everything. My time, my loyalty, my silence when people questioned what we were. I waited. I didn't date. I didn't even look at anyone else. Because I thought we had a future. Because you said we would."
Her breathing was ragged now, her shoulders rising and falling like she was trying not to fall apart.
"And now what?" she spat. "You just walk away? Like all of that meant nothing?"
He stepped closer, his presence cold and controlled. "You can't force me into something I don't want. Not then. Not now. Not ever."
Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a sharper edge. "Don't be so sure of yourself. My father's invested a lot in you. In your company. You really want to risk all of that? Because if we don't marry by love..." —her voice dropped— "we'll marry by duty."
Lyan's laugh was low. Bitter. "If your father values our partnership, he'll respect my choices. And if he doesn't?" His gaze hardened. "I'll survive without him. I've done it before."
Tania's voice lost its flirtatious lilt. "You really won't let me in?"
"No," he said plainly. "You weren't invited. And you're not welcome."
At that moment, Angela—curious after the long delay—stepped out briefly, saw Lyan speaking to someone, and quietly retreated back inside.
But Tania caught it. Her eyes narrowed.
"Tan, please go. I promise I will pick up your calls. Okay?" Lya said trying to push her away.
"Who is that woman in your house?" she snapped. "Is she the reason you won't even talk to me? The reason you're suddenly too good for me?"
Lyan's eyes followed the door Angela had disappeared behind. For a brief second, his guard slipped.
But when he turned back to Tania, his expression had returned to stone.
"That's none of your concern."
Tania took a slow, venomous step toward him. "Oh, it is my concern. You're throwing me aside like trash—after years—because of her? Some girl who walks into your house like she owns it?"
Lyan didn't react. Not visibly. But something in his jaw shifted.
"She has nothing to do with this," he said.
"Oh, but she does," Tania shot back. "You think I didn't notice the way your voice softened when she came out? How you hesitated?"
Lyan folded his arms, his patience worn razor-thin. "This conversation is over."