Rebirth: Love me Again

[IRAYA]

The bouncer didn't even blink as I strode into the bar, my confidence sharp enough to cut through the thrumming bass that echoed against the velvet-lined walls.

This wasn't my first time in a place like this. I was in my twenties, after all. I understood how these high-end bars worked, especially this one—the kind of place where the elite came to drown their sins in luxury.

This wasn't your run-of-the-mill hangout where teenagers fumbled their way in with fake IDs, pretending to be grown-ups. No, this was a playground for the powerful and depraved.

Professional dancers writhed in gilded cages, their movements hypnotic under the strobe lights, while men in bespoke suits threw money like confetti, paying for pleasures that promised to touch the heavens.

Every corner dripped with opulence and indulgence, and the air itself was charged with forbidden temptation.

I weaved through the crowd, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The clink of crystal glasses and low murmurs from shadowed booths blurred into the music.

It didn't take long to find him.

Leander.

He was tucked away in a private corner, his presence commanding even amid the cacophony. Surrounded by his so-called friends and a flock of women who hung on his every word, he exuded the kind of charisma that turned heads and made people forget their principles.

As always, he was dressed in black—a crisp shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and tailored pants that emphasized his lean strength.

But it wasn't just his looks that captivated. It was the aura around him, dangerous and magnetic, like standing too close to a fire that could either warm or consume you.

For a moment, I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the box in my hand. It didn't matter how many people surrounded him, or how intimidating his presence was. I wasn't here to be ignored.

I stepped forward, letting the light catch the shimmer of my dress and the sharp edge of my resolve.

Around him, a cluster of women moved like moths to a flame, each one desperate for a taste of his attention.

They were stunning—high cheekbones, flawless skin, bodies wrapped in designer dresses that clung to them like second skins. But all their beauty seemed to blur into the background, overshadowed by him.

Leander's arm rested lazily around one woman's waist, pulling her closer as their mouths collided in a kiss so unrestrained it felt obscene. His expression was devoid of any real emotion, but his movements were deliberate, almost mechanical, like a predator toying with its prey.

Her hands clung to his shoulders as though she might collapse if he let her go, soft, breathy moans escaping her lips between the clash of their tongues.

It wasn't just a kiss. It was a spectacle. The kind that left no room for modesty, no space for shame.

The women around them looked on with a mix of envy and yearning, their eyes hungry for their turn. One leaned closer, her fingers brushing his arm as if to remind him she was still there, waiting. Her lips parted, longing evident in every subtle movement.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as my stomach twisted. This wasn't a scene I wanted to step into—not as an observer, and certainly not as a participant.

But somehow, my legs betrayed me, carrying me forward through the haze of perfume and smoke until I was standing right in front of him.

Leander's sharp gaze shifted to me, locking onto mine with the sharpness of a blade. He didn't stop. If anything, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving with intensity against hers, as though he wanted me to see every second of it. His eyes never wavered from mine, cold and taunting, daring me to look away.

Heat flooded my face, a mix of humiliation and something darker, something I wasn't ready to name. My hands clenched at my sides, the box in my grip suddenly feeling absurdly heavy.

I didn't know what to do—stay, leave, demand his attention, or retreat with what little dignity I had left.

"Who are you?" one of the women sneered, her tone dripping with venom as she flicked her hair back. "If you're here for Leander, then get in line, honey." She gestured arrogantly toward the crowd of women behind her, each vying for his attention like a prize they were determined to win.

The tension around the table shifted as another voice cut through the music. "What's this? Who's she?" one of Leander's male friends finally noticed me, his brows furrowed in drunken curiosity.

"Do we know you?" another chimed in, leaning forward with a mocking smirk.

"She looks familiar," someone else murmured, squinting at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

Then, clarity struck one of them, and his face lit up with cruel amusement. "Oh, idiot—that's Iraya Lee, the foreigner. She's from the same school as us."

Recognition rippled through the group like a spark igniting dry leaves. "You mean the blind girl? The one who's been openly cuckolded by her boyfriend?"

The words landed like a slap, but it was the laughter that followed that really stung. It wasn't just a laugh; it was cruel, sharp, and laced with mockery that made my stomach churn.

I stood there, frozen for a moment, the words pressing down on me like an invisible hand. Jason and Kylie hadn't been discreet, most of the time. Their affair was a whispered secret that everyone seemed to know except me.

I had been so blind—blinded by trust, blinded by love, blinded by my refusal to see the truth before.

As their laughter echoed around me, I felt the sting of their ridicule morph into something else—anger. It wasn't just at them. It was at myself for allowing it to happen, for standing here now, letting their words hit me like daggers.

But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me falter. Slowly, I lifted my chin and met their gazes, one by one, refusing to look away. Their laughter started to die down, some of them shifting uncomfortably under my stare.

Leander finally broke the kiss, the woman gasping as she clung to him like she might faint. He leaned back against the couch with casual arrogance, his lips curling into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he said, his voice low, carrying over the noise like the whisper of the devil himself. "Do you want to spill another coffee on me?"