CHAPTER 373: BETWEEN WINTER AND SURRENDER

I felt my face burning when he said ’made love’ like it was sacred. Gone was his usual teasing and arrogant bad boy remarks.

We ate breakfast in relative peace. Scrambled eggs, fresh bread, butter with flecks of sea salt. I hated how good the food was. I hated how normal it all felt.

When we finished, Lyander set his napkin down. "You want to go out again? There’s a spot by the lake where the snow glitters like diamonds. Thought you’d like it."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. My chest felt too tight, like my emotions were pressing in from every side.

But I had to ask. I had to clear the air.

I met his eyes. "Aren’t we going to talk about what happened last night?"

Lyander didn’t flinch. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"That’s not an answer," I said, my voice rising despite myself. "I hate that we did what we did . . . and now there’s just this silence between us like nothing happened. It makes me feel . . ." I hesitated, the words heavy on my tongue. "It makes me feel cheap. Like I’m just another passing whim of yours. Like I’m your—"

"My whore?" he finished, surprisingly calm.

I couldn’t say anything. I hated even saying it out loud.

But instead of being offended or defensive, Lyander actually smiled—not mockingly, but softly. "Do you want to put a label between us?"

I groaned in frustration. "Stop answering my questions with more questions!"

His amusement faded at the pain in my voice. I didn’t want to cry, but my eyes stung with unshed tears. "I’m not trying to insert myself into your life. I just . . . last night was my first. And I’m scared that to you, it was nothing. I’m not that kind of woman."

"Iraya. You’re not cheap." He stepped closer, grabbing my hand—firm but gentle, grounding. "I know it’s sudden. I know I’ve been . . . impossible. But what happened last night? I don’t regret any of it. And you shouldn’t either."

I couldn’t look at him. I felt raw.

"The reason I brought you here in the first place," he said, voice low, "wasn’t about getting back at you, or shirts, or to annoy you. It was because I like you. I have for a long time."

I blinked. "What?"

He repeated it without hesitation. "I like you."

"Huh?"

"I like you, Iraya."

"I . . ."

"Do you want me to say it again?" he asked with a teasing smile now tugging at his lips. "Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you want to hear it a thousand times."

I blushed despite myself. "No—it’s just . . . it’s hard to trust your words when all you’ve done is tease me and drive me insane. I mean, I’m not even your type."

He let out a frustrated laugh. "Damn it, woman. Do you really think I’d go through all this trouble—kidnap you, bring you here, keep you at my side—just to mess with you? Just because of one spilled coffee and bruised ego?"

I folded my arms, defensive. "I don’t know, Lyander. You’re not exactly forthcoming with your feelings. You act like a puzzle wrapped in arrogance half the time. What was I supposed to think?"

He rolled his eyes. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me—short and deliberate, silencing my spiraling thoughts.

When he pulled away, his expression was serious. "Fine. Let me say it clearly, then. I’ve been in love with you since the first time we met."

I blinked. "You fell in love with me when I accidentally poured coffee on your shirt?"

He gave a short laugh. "No. That was the second time. The first time . . . you don’t even remember, do you?"

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out—a folded handkerchief. Faded white, embroidered with a small initial. My initial.

"Recognize this?" he asked, handing it to me.

I stared. "Wait. This is mine."

He nodded, then began recounting the first time we met. It was my first visit to his country, and I hadn’t recognized him at all.

I saw a man sitting slumped on the side of the street, soaked from the rain. He looked utterly defeated. I thought he was a beggar—so I handed him my handkerchief and even gave him a few bills before walking away.

I had no idea that man was Lyander De Santis—the heir to one of the wealthiest families in the country.

I gasped, the memory rushing back like fog clearing. "That was you? That man on the sidewalk . . . That was you?"

He nodded. "I kept it. I never forgot you. And when you spilled coffee on me before, I recognized your face immediately."

I was speechless. That meant he’d known all along. All those times I thought he was just annoyed or amused by me—he’d remembered me before I even remembered him.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" I whispered.

He shrugged. "Maybe I wanted to see if you’d remember on your own. Maybe I was waiting for the right time."

"And this is the right time?" I asked softly.

Lyander’s smile faded into something more intense. His gaze locked on mine. "Now that you know how I feel . . . what’s your answer?"

"What?" I blinked, confused. "What answer?"

He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small box.

My heart stopped.

He opened it, revealing a ring—simple, elegant, with a shimmer like snow caught in sunlight.

"Will you marry me, Iraya?"

My jaw dropped. "Wait. What?! Marriage?! Are you serious?"

"As serious as I’ve ever been in my life."

"I—I haven’t even recovered from you telling me you like me, and now this?"

"I figured you’d need some time," he said smoothly, stepping forward and placing the box in my hand. "So think about it. But know this—what happened last night wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t a fling. It was the beginning of something I’ve wanted for a very long time."

I stared down at the ring, heart pounding so hard I thought it would crack my ribs.

How was I supposed to respond to that?

To him?

To this?

I didn’t know yet.

I opened my mouth to response when the door burst open and came in dozen men.