Angela stopped spinning the chair, her smirk fading into a small, surprised smile. For a moment, she seemed caught off guard by his question. The banter between them had taken a sudden, unexpected turn.
She studied his face, trying to read his expression. But Lyan's features held a careful balance of curiosity and quiet amusement.
"Well," she said slowly, leaning back in the chair, "if I did like you… you'd be the first to know, wouldn't you?"
Lyan stepped forward—not close enough to cross a line, but enough to draw her attention back to him.
"I'm not always the best at noticing things," he admitted, hands tucked into his pockets. "Especially when it matters."
Angela tilted her head slightly, a strand of hair falling across her cheek. She didn't brush it away.
"That's the thing about feelings," she said. "They're rarely loud. More like whispers—waiting for someone to actually listen."
He studied her in silence, then gave a quiet chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"You like me, don't you?"
Angela laughed lightly, shaking her head. "You're impossible," she said, trying to steer the conversation back into lighter territory. "And for the record, I'm not so easily stolen. You'll need to try harder than that."
Lyan leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "Try harder, huh? Sounds like a challenge."
Angela raised a brow, smiling. "Is it? You'd know if it was. But I wouldn't bet on you winning."
He folded his arms across his chest, "You're assuming I play fair."
She stood up slowly, stretching like a cat, robe shifting just enough to to draw his glance and made him look away for half a second—then right back. She caught it.
"Lyan," she said in a mock-warning tone, "if you're trying to be subtle, you're failing miserably."
"I'm not trying to be anything," he replied smoothly. "But you're still here. Which means I'm doing something right."
Angela moved to the door, hand resting on the frame, but she didn't leave.
"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "Maybe I just wanted to see how long it'd take for you to crack. And I don't think you'd survive the pressure."
He stepped closer—just enough for her to feel the warmth of him without it becoming a move.
"Crack? Is that what this is? Because from where I'm standing, you're the one spinning in that chair like a girl with a crush."
Angela gave a sharp laugh. "Wow. So this is your flirting style—mild arrogance with a sprinkle of psychological warfare?"
"I haven't even started flirting," he said, tone low and even. "Trust me—you'd know."
She tilted her head, amused. "Then don't start. You might find yourself in too deep."
"I'm already there."
Angela gave him a seductive look, and all Lyan could see was an angle in the body of a woman.
She turned from the door and sat on the couch. "No, you're not."
Lyan chuckled; His deep, genuine laughter made Angela admire him even more.
"Is that so?" he asked, resting his head back against the couch. "You're full of surprises, Angela. I'll give you that."
"And you," she replied, standing up and brushing her hands together, "you're full of trouble. But I love it."
"You should get some sleep," she said, softly now. "Before you start saying things you can't take back."
Lyan took a breath, nodding slowly. "And you should go before I do."
Angela hesitated—just a beat.
She smiled, softer this time, then reached for the door—just as it opened.
"Goodnight, Lyan."
He didn't want her to leave. Her presence always left the air warmer.
"Since you're not tired yet," he said, leaning forward, "why don't we talk a little longer?"
Angela paused, her hand resting on the doorknob. She looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. "Talk about what?" she asked.
"Anything," he said with a shrug. "You said I'm full of trouble—maybe you can elaborate on that."
"Okay!" Angela said, closing the door she had just opened. She walked back to the chair, her steps unhurried, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Let's see. Where do I even start with a troublemaker like you?"
She sat, spinning the chair slightly before leaning back. "Let's start with your oh-so-troublesome fiancée. Where'd you get her, anyway?"
Lyan laughed. "Ah, starting with Tania? Figures. Well… it's not exactly romantic. More of a business arrangement."
Angela's expression sharpened. "Business? You're engaged to her for a deal?"
He nodded, more serious now. "Her father's connections are… useful. I didn't want it. But sometimes you make sacrifices. Or at least, I thought I had to."
Angela leaned forward. "And, you've changed your mind?"
Lyan's gaze dropped to the laptop, then back up. "I have. But I still need the project to work. But some sacrifices… just aren't worth it."
"And why is that? I mean, don't you need project success anymore?" she asked.
Lyan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the laptop on his lap before slowly looking back at Angela. "I need the project to succeed, no doubt about that," he admitted. "But... I realized that some sacrifices aren't worth it. Besides, the beautiful woman in my house made me change my mind!"
Angela tilted her head, her lips curving into a playful smile. "And who is the beautiful woman in your house, Lyan? Don't tell me you're talking about Tania because we both know that's not true."
Lyan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're right; it's not Tania," he said, meeting her gaze with an intensity that made her heart skip. "It's..."
"Wait, don't say it's Mrs Jones!" She said, already bursting into big loud laughter.
Lyan couldn't help but laugh along, shaking his head as he leaned back on the couch. "Mrs. Jones? Really, Angela?" he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Do you think I have a thing for a woman that I technically treat like a mother to me! Come on, learn to use your brain!"
Angela was still laughing, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Well, I had to make sure! You said 'the beautiful woman in your house,' and technically, Mrs. Jones is in the house!"
Lyan grinned, enjoying the lighthearted moment. "Fair point, but no, it's not Mrs. Jones. I think you know exactly who I'm talking about."
Angela's laughter slowed, her expression softening as she caught the look in his eyes. She felt a flutter in her chest but quickly brushed it off, opting for another teasing reply. "Hmm... well, if it's not Tania and it's not Mrs. Jones, then maybe it's the goldfish in the kitchen."
Lyan smirked, shaking his head. "Keep deflecting all you want, Angela. But you know the truth."
Angela opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words. The playful energy in the room shifted, replaced by embarrassment. She glanced away, pretending to be interested in the books on the shelf beside her.
"Well," she said after a moment, her voice quieter, "I think it's time I head back to bed."
Lyan watched her as she stood up, her movements slower now, almost reluctant. "Angela," he called softly, stopping her just as she reached the door.
She turned to look at him, her hand resting on the doorknob. "Yes?"
"Goodnight," he said, his voice warm, his gaze steady.
Angela hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Goodnight, Lyan." She opened the door and slipped out, her heart beating for reasons she couldn't quite explain.
Though Angela didn't say anything to Lyan, her heart betrayed her.
A quiet smile played at her mouth as she walked up the stairs. Her fingers brushed the rail, her step light—like Cinderella after midnight.
"What am I even doing?" she whispered, shaking her head.
But the smile never faded.
She reached the door to the guest room and paused, her fingers lingering on the doorknob.