[IRAYA]

    "Miss, we need to ask you to leave," one of them said, his voice polite but firm as he towered over me.

    I could''ve made a scene. I could''ve fought back. But what would''ve been the point? Irritating the guards of a mafia empire wasn''t exactly on my to-do list tonight.

    Shrugging, I offered a careless smile. "Gladly."

    I was already preparing to take my first step toward the exit, determined not to let the guards drag me away and create an unnecessary scene, when a sudden announcement halted me in my tracks.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr. De Santis."

    The air shifted. Conversations hushed, and all eyes turned to the grand entrance. A spotlight illuminated an elderly man who exuded an aura of wealth, power, and elegance.

    Mr. De Santis carried himself with a regal presence, every movement confident and commanding attention. Despite his age, his physique was impressive—broad-shouldered and fit, like a seasoned model from a vintage men''s magazine. He had a dandy air about him, right down to the cigar resting between his fingers, adding a rebellious charm to his otherwise immaculate image.

    Gold and diamond rings adorned his hands, catching the light as he lifted the cigar and casually exhaled a puff of smoke. Though the venue was dimly lit, he wore dark sunglasses, adding to his mystique. His beard, a perfect blend of white and black, was neatly groomed, framing his sharp features with an ageless sophistication that made it clear why people respected—and feared—him.

    The women around me—young and old, single and married alike—seemed to hold their breath. Some subtly fanned themselves with whatever they could find, while others whispered in awe, their gazes locked on the enigmatic figure.

    It wasn''t just his wealth or reputation that commanded attention; it was the sheer magnetism he radiated. He didn''t need to speak loudly or make grand gestures. His mere presence was enough to make the room feel smaller, as though everything now revolved around him.

    And then, as if to complete the scene, Lyander appeared by his side.

    Even in a room filled with the elite, Lyander stood out, his striking looks drawing as much attention as the man next to him. He had inherited his father''s dangerously handsome features—sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and a charisma that seemed effortless. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he moved with the same quiet confidence, as though born to rule.

    But it wasn''t just Lyander who caught the crowd''s attention. On his arm was a woman so stunning she seemed almost unreal. Her long, jet-black hair flowed like silk, gleaming under the chandelier lights, while her flawless skin seemed to glow against the dark fabric of her elegant gown.

    She wasn''t just beautiful; she was captivating, with a presence that demanded attention in a way that didn''t feel forced. Every curve, every detail of her appearance, was perfect, as if she had stepped out of a dream designed to dazzle.

    Lyander shrugged, still holding that devil-may-care grin. "Yeah, Pops, we did. The deal was that I''d marry whoever you chose for me if I didn''t have a serious girlfriend by Christmas. But . . . turns out, I do."

    The room fell into stunned silence. Every head turned toward Lyander, eyes wide with shock, mouths hanging open in disbelief. Even Flor was frozen, her perfect smile wiped clean off her face.

    Flor finally found her voice. "Excuse me?" she spluttered, her tone a mixture of disbelief and indignation.

    But no one paid her any attention. All eyes remained locked on Lyander, curiosity crackling in the air like static electricity.

    Even Mr. De Santis seemed momentarily thrown off. Then, regaining his composure, he leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with interest. "Really?" he asked, his voice slower now, tinged with intrigue. "Who?"

    I had no interest in Lyander''s complicated personal life, but I''ll admit—I was curious. Who was this mystery woman? This bad-boy playboy who never seemed to take anything seriously suddenly had someone he was claiming to be serious about? That was newsworthy.

    But then it happened. His eyes met mine—steady, unflinching—and I felt a sudden chill run down my spine, the kind you get right before disaster strikes.

    And before I could even process the sinking feeling in my gut, he raised a finger and pointed directly at me.

    "Her," Lyander said, his voice carrying across the room with ease. "Iraya Lee. I''m going to marry her."

    The world tilted. Time seemed to slow, and for a split second, I swore the room had stopped spinning. My heart slammed against my ribcage, and my brain scrambled to process what I had just heard.

    Me? Marry him? What in the world was he thinking?!

    Every head in the room turned toward me, their gazes searing through my skin. Flor looked like she might combust on the spot. Mr. De Santis arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by this unexpected twist.

    And Lyander? He looked completely at ease, as though he had just solved all his problems with a single, outrageous declaration.

    I opened my mouth, maybe to deny it, maybe to yell at him—I wasn''t sure which. But nothing came out. Words failed me entirely. I was too busy reeling from the fact that I had just been turned into Lyander De Santis''s fiance?e in front of half the city''s elite without so much as a warning.

    One thing was clear, though—Lyander wasn''t just dangerous because of his looks. He was dangerous because he could throw your entire world off balance with a single smirk and a few well-placed words.

    And somehow, I had just become the center of his latest, most outrageous game yet.@@@@