He glanced at her again, watching the way she carried herself even in an uncomfortable situation like this. Angela caught his gaze briefly, offering a small, polite smile before continuing with her meal. It was as though she could sense his curiosity but chose not to address it directly.
"Is everything alright, Tania?" Lyan finally asked, his tone neutral but carrying an undertone of irritation.
Tania snapped her head up, her lips curling into a forced smile. "Of course. Just… wondering how long we're going to sit here pretending everything's fine."
Angela raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her calm gaze shifting between Tania and Lyan. Lyan leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he decided to address the tension directly.
"Tania," he said evenly, "if there's something on your mind, just say it. I'd rather not spend the evening dancing around unnecessary drama."
Tania's smile faltered. "Oh, I think I've already said enough."
Lyan didn't flinch. "Then stop hinting and just say what you want to say."
She scoffed. "You want it straight? Fine. I think it's strange—no, actually, insulting—that I show up, and you're suddenly playing house with someone else. And then I'm the one being treated like I'm out of place."
Angela's eyes met Lyan's for a brief second, but still, she said nothing. Her restraint was louder than any rebuttal.
"You weren't invited here," Lyan replied calmly, "but I still let you in. What you do with that is up to you. But if you came just to stir things up—"
"What?" Tania's eyes narrowed, her voice cutting his.
"Fine," she said, her voice sharp. "I just don't understand why she's here, Lyan. What is she to you? Because from where I'm standing, it feels like she's more than just a 'friend.'"
Angela's eyes met Lyan's for a moment, though she remained composed.
Lyan didn't answer right away. His eyes settled on Tania, who looked so composed and confident.
"She is more than a friend," he said finally. The words were quiet, but they cut through the air like glass. "But not in the way you think."
Tania blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Then explain it to me," she snapped. "Because from the outside, it looks like you replaced me with someone quieter, someone easier to control."
Angela finally looked up—not offended, not flustered. Just tired of the same old assumption.
"I'm not easier," she said, calmly. "And like I said earlier, I'm not a threat. Unless you want me to be."
Angela stood up gracefully. "I'll let you settle whatever this is," she said, her voice polite. Her gaze briefly met Lyan's, a silent acknowledgment passing between them before she turned toward the stairs.
Lyan's eyes followed her as she left. He turned back to Tania, his irritation finally bubbling to the surface. "That was unnecessary," he said coldly. "You had no right to question her like that."
Tania leaned back in her chair, folding her arms with a defiant glare. "No right? I'm your fiancée, Lyan. Or did you forget that little detail? I have every right to question why another woman is here in your house."
"You're not my fiancée," Lyan said sharply, his voice cutting through her protests. "That's a label you've given yourself, not something I agreed to. And Angela's presence here has nothing to do with you."
Tania scoffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing to do with me? I think it has everything to do with me if it's interfering with us."
Lyan leaned forward, his eyes cold and unyielding. "There is no 'us,' Tania. I've told you this before, and I'm telling you again. Whatever you think we have, it doesn't exist."
Tania's face faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, masking her hurt with anger. "You know what? I've lost my appetite. I'm going to bed." she straightened her head as she called Mrs Jones. "Mrs Jones, take my bags to the master bedroom."
Lyan's expression darkened because of Tania's audacity. Before Mrs. Jones could respond, he raised his hand, stopping her in her tracks. His voice was calm leaving no room for argument.
"Tania," he said firmly, "you are not staying in the master bedroom."
Tania's lips curved into a smirk. "Really? Watch me." She turned sharply to Mrs. Jones. "Why are you still standing there like a stupid vase? Take my bags upstairs."
Lyan stood abruptly, his chair sliding back with a quiet scrape. His voice, when it came, cut through the tension like lightning. "Enough, Tania."
She flinched, just slightly.
"You don't get to come into my home, insult the people under my roof, and bark orders like this is your domain."
Her smug expression faltered. But pride is stubborn, and hers wasn't about to back down. "You think you can talk to me like that? My father—"
"My father," Lyan said mockingly, cutting her off, "has nothing to do with what happens in this house. And neither do you."
He turned toward Mrs. Jones, who had frozen mid-step, unsure what to do.
"Leave her bags where they are," Lyan said firmly. "She'll stay the night—and leave first thing in the morning."
Mrs. Jones gave a small nod, the lines on her face relaxing with relief. "Understood, sir." She quickly exited, her footsteps light.
Tania stood there, visibly seething. "You can't be serious. You're throwing me out... for her?"
Lyan didn't flinch. "This isn't about Angela. It's about you. About your lack of respect. About how you think you can bully your way through anything and call it love."
She stared at him, lips parted, but no words came.
Without another glance, she grabbed her handbag and stormed upstairs heading directly to the master bedroom.
A few moments later, the master bedroom door slammed shut.
Silence descended.
Lyan sat down slowly, dragging a tired hand across his face.
Mrs. Jones returned, walking gently to the dining table. She began clearing the plates with quiet care, but the look she gave Lyan was warm and familiar.
"Sorry you had to see that," Lyan said, glancing at her with the ghost of a smile.
Mrs. Jones sighed. "Don't apologize to me. I've worked in this house since before you could walk—I've seen tantrums before. But that girl... she's not just spoiled. She's dangerous."
Lyan chuckled softly under his breath, though his face didn't quite match the sound. "It's temporary. There's a deal I'm negotiating. Her father's a key part of it. But I'm working on doing it without him. Without the mess."
"You don't like her," she said simply, not as a question—but as a truth.
"No. I don't," he admitted, his voice lower now.
Mrs. Jones set down the last plate and approached him, her hands folded in front of her. Her expression softened, the lines around her eyes more maternal than formal.
"I've watched you grow up. I know when something's weighing on you. And I know when someone doesn't belong in your life." She placed a hand gently on his forearm. "Don't ever tie yourself to someone you can't respect. That kind of mistake doesn't just bruise you—it breaks you."
Lyan nodded, his throat tight. "I hear you."
"You don't just hear me," she said kindly. "You already know I'm right."
He met her gaze, and chuckled lightly. "Thanks, Mrs Jones. I don't know what I'd do without you."
She smiled, patting his arm once before turning toward the kitchen. "Now, go upstairs and check on that other girl. The one who didn't shout. The one who knows how to walk away with dignity. Those are rare."
Lyan stood, hesitating for only a moment before heading toward the staircase that led to the far wing.
He didn't know exactly what he would say to Angela.
But he knew one thing—he needed her to stay.