[IRAYA]
Lyander didn’t even flinch—no smug smile, no usual sarcasm. Just a heavy pause, as if he was weighing his words.
"I brought you here because . . . ," he trailed off, then gave a half-smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Because it looked like you needed a vacation. So, you’re welco."
I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. "Oh, how generous of you. You don’t get to decide when I need a break from my life. And honestly, do you really expect to believe that?"
He remained quiet.
"I know exactly why I’m here," I continued, stepping closer. "Because you’re clearly not done annoying . You enjoy getting under my skin. Admit it. This little snow-globe prison of yours? It’s just another ga for you at my expense. Well I’m not going to give you any satisfaction from this."
His mouth curved into a slow grin—mischievous, unreadable. But there was sothing else in his gaze. A flicker of emotion I couldn’t pin down. Not amusent. Not arrogance.
Sothing quieter. Sadder, maybe.
"Believe whatever you want," he said simply, turning his back and walking toward the window.
And just like that, the conversation ended—but the confusion in my chest didn’t.
Because as much as I wanted to roll my eyes and label him as the sa arrogant prince who thrived on chaos, there was sothing different this ti.
Sothing I wasn’t ready to na.
Sothing that terrified more than being stranded in his frozen estate.
Because it felt like . . . he had other reason of kidnapping here.
And that unsettled more than anything.
But that’s what made it worse. Because even when he wasn’t telling anything, Lyander De Santis had a way of rearranging my world.
And I hated how a part of was excited for it.
=====
By morning, I’d stopped pretending. The estate was beautiful. Impossibly so. Trails laced the hills in white.
A frozen lake glimred beyond the trees. It was peaceful in a haunting kind of way.
I walked alone, bundled in wool and silence. Lyander didn’t follow. Maybe he was learning. Or maybe he just knew I needed the illusion of independence.
But of course, the mont had finally co that he pestered —and by pestered, I an dragged into sothing outrageous with that maddening grin of his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It started innocently enough, with Lyander striding into the living room in full snow gear: sleek jacket, snow pants, boots, gloves, and a ridiculous amount of smugness.
I was curled up on a chair by the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket and deeply committed to pretending he didn’t exist while reading the books in his library.
"We’re going out," he announced like so royal decree.
I didn’t even blink. "Go ahead. Don’t let stop you."
"I ant you’re coming with ," he said with a half-smile that spelled trouble.
"Hard pass."
"Too bad. The board is already waiting outside."
"The board?" I echoed, lifting an eyebrow. "What board?"
"Snowskate," he said, wiggling his eyebrows like it was supposed to entice .
I blinked slowly. "You an that thing people do when they want to flirt with death?"
He laughed. "No, that’s base jumping. This is just fun."
I glared. "Lyander, I don’t snowskate. I don’t ski. I don’t even like snow. This whole country is a block of ice. I am not going out there to fall on my face while you pretend this is so rom-com montage."
He didn’t even argue.
Instead, he walked over, leaned down, and—with zero warning—scooped up, blanket and all.
"Put down!" I shrieked.
"Nope."
"Lyander De Santis!"
"Yes, Iraya Lee?"
"I swear I will bite you!"
"Then you’ll have to open your mouth, which I don’t recomnd, because it’s freezing outside."
He carried out the front door, my blanket trailing behind like a defeated flag. I shouted. He didn’t care.
The cold slapped in the face the mont we stepped out, and I screeched louder.
The board was waiting by the front porch. And by the board, I ant two sleek snowboards and an irritating instructor who greeted Lyander like they were old pals.
"She’s a beginner," Lyander said to him. "So let’s start with sothing easy."
"Easy?!" I hissed as he set down. "You bastard!"
But before I could escape back into the warmth of my plush prison, he was already strapping the gear to my boots. I protested. He smirked.
I wriggled like a cat avoiding a bath. It didn’t matter. I was strapped in and gliding down a gentle slope before I fully processed what was happening.
Gliding is a generous word.
What I was doing looked more like an uncoordinated penguin slipping on a banana peel.
I fell.
Hard.
Face-first.
Snow up my nose.
Lyander skated to my side and crouched. "You okay?"
I spit snow. "I hate you."
He grinned. "No, you don’t. You hate how good I look in snow gear."
I tried to slap him. Missed. Fell again.
And still, he stayed beside .
He taught how to shift my weight. How to lean into the slope instead of against it. He held my hands—strong, warm, steady—and guided down a slope so gently that I didn’t notice I was actually moving without falling.
Then I hit a bump and fell again.
Right into his chest.
Our bodies collided, tangled in jackets and limbs and snow.
He didn’t let go imdiately. Neither did I.
For a second, we just stared at each other, breath clouding in the winter air, faces close, lips nearly brushing. My heart skittered. The snow lted where our gloves t.
And then, of course, I ruined it.
"Don’t say a word," I muttered, rolling off him.
He didn’t. But his grin said everything.
We kept going. I kept falling. He kept catching . And sowhere between the tumbles and cursing, I laughed.
I laughed.
Really laughed.
Like I hadn’t in ages.
And Lyander, that annoying, arrogant, aggravating man, looked at like I’d just solved every problem in the universe.
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