Rebirth: Love me Again

[IRAYA]

Every nerve in my body screamed at me to turn and walk away. Logic told me to leave, to avoid further humiliation, but something deep inside rooted me in place.

I wasn't about to run. Not now. Not when I had come this far. Turning back would only make things worse—it would look weak, pitiful, like I couldn't face the consequences of my own actions.

Clearing my throat, I forced my voice to steady. "Actually, that's why I'm here," I said, extending the box in my hands toward him. My heart pounded, each beat heavier than the last. "I felt guilty for ruining your shirt the other day. I wanted to apologize and . . . replace it."

Leander didn't move. His expression remained unreadable, his sharp eyes locked on mine. The seconds stretched like hours as I stood there, my arm outstretched and trembling slightly.

I began to feel like a fool, until he finally flicked his hand, signaling one of his men.

A tall man in a dark suit stepped forward, taking the box from me. With practiced precision, he opened it and revealed its contents. Four impeccably folded shirts lay inside, each one an unmistakable piece of Brioni craftsmanship.

"They're all black," I said softly, the words escaping me before I could second-guess them. "I thought . . . you might like them."

The reaction wasn't what I expected. A ripple of laughter spread among Leander's entourage, the men chuckling openly while the women giggled behind their hands, their gazes darting between me and him.

"What's funny?" I asked, confused and more than a little annoyed.

One of the men, his tone dripping with mockery, answered, "They're all black? See that, Leander? She must think you don't own enough already."

Another joined in, smirking. "Looks like she's trying to corner the market on your wardrobe. Guess she's noticed your signature look."

The women whispered among themselves, their laughter light and cruel. I felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up my neck. My choice of gift, which I thought was thoughtful, now seemed foolish under their scrutiny.

But amidst the laughter, Leander remained silent. His gaze never left mine, even as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Slowly, he leaned forward, his posture casual but his presence overwhelming.

"And what," he said, his voice smooth and quiet, "do you hope to achieve by giving me these?"

I faltered under his stare, words tangling in my throat. "I—I just thought it was the right thing to do," I stammered. "As an apology . . . for ruining your shirt. And I was hoping we could forget about that little incident."

Leander tilted his head slightly, as if considering my answer. "An apology," he repeated, his tone laced with something I couldn't decipher. "Interesting."

Before I could respond, one of his friends laughed again. "She's probably hoping you won't make her disappear like those other poor fools who pissed you off."

Another man grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, Leander. She's trying to save herself. A peace offering, huh?"

I stiffened at their words, my grip tightening on the hem of my dress. Was this how they saw me? A desperate girl groveling to save her skin? Well . . . that was true in a way.

I opened my mouth, but Leander's gaze pinned me in place.

One of the women scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. "If you ask me, she's just here to get your attention. It's pathetic. Send her away already."

She leaned closer to him, her hand trailing possessively down his chest. With exaggerated boldness, she pressed her lips to his neck, sticking out her tongue to lick the skin, the motion sultry and shameless.

"Let's get back to enjoying ourselves," she purred.

Leander didn't even glance at her. With a flick of his wrist, he swatted her hand away, his indifference cutting sharper than words. Rising from his seat, he moved toward me, each step deliberate, his presence swallowing the space between us.

I inhaled sharply, my pulse hammering in my ears. Though I wasn't short, I felt dwarfed by him in that moment, as though the very air around us bent to his will.

He stopped just inches from me, the warmth of his presence making the room feel colder. "I don't need those useless shirts," he said, his voice low and deliberate.

Useless? My mind reeled. I'd spent nearly $5,000 on those shirts, carefully selecting them because they suited his style. But to him, they were nothing more than a joke.

Before I could react, he reached out, his fingers grazing my chin. The touch was light, almost gentle, but the strength behind it was undeniable as he tilted my face upward, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"Honestly, I had forgotten about that little incident. But since you've drove all the way here to remind me . . ." His eyes burned into mine, light blue like they were glowing, and unreadable. His next words fell like a velvet dagger. "Then the only repayment I want . . . is you?"

The breath left my lungs in a sharp, shaky exhale as the weight of his words settled over me. My heart stumbled, caught between disbelief and something much darker, more dangerous.

His voice wasn't asking—it was commanding. And the look in his eyes, that storm swirling in their depths, told me without a doubt that I had no choice but to obey.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the kind that wraps around you, suffocating, as if no one could quite believe what Leander had just said.

I couldn't be sure if it was the tension in the air or the pounding in my ears, but for a moment, I thought I might choke on my own thoughts.

"Uhm . . ." I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat, useless, suffocated by the pressure of the moment.

Leander's grip on my chin loosened suddenly, and he turned his attention to one of his men, a silent command passing between them. "For now, I don't have anything in mind. But the holiday break is long. Expect a call."

Before I could respond, the man in a sharp suit handed me a card, the edges crisp, the paper thick. I hesitated before reaching for it, and with a cold smile, Leander motioned at me.

"Call it," he ordered, his gaze never wavering from me, as though he were a king issuing a decree to a servant.

I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn't come. "Uhm . . ." I stammered again, but it was too weak, too futile.

His voice dropped low, dangerous, as if he knew exactly what effect it had on me. "NOW."

His words cut through the air, hypnotizing, twisting my will, and before I knew it, my hand moved on its own. I was dialing the number, my fingers trembling as the reality of the situation sank deeper into my bones.

Leander's lips curved into a subtle smile, the kind that was more sinister than kind, more of a knowing smirk than a gesture of amusement.

He shifted his focus on the screen of his phone when it ringed. He then casually tilted his head to the side, that devilish grin spreading wider as he murmured, "I'll call you."

His words echoed in my mind like an ominous warning, a threat veiled in sweetness.

I didn't know what to do, what to say. I just stood there, frozen, like a fool with my mouth agape, unsure of how I'd gotten here, unsure of what had just happened.

The heat of everyone's gaze burned into my back as I turned and hurried out, feeling their stares sear into me like brand marks.

Once in my car, I slammed my forehead against the steering wheel, the harsh thud a physical reminder of my foolishness

I closed my eyes, feeling the tears well up, the helplessness threatening to drown me. This was all spiraling out of control, and it was my fault—because I had been an idiot.

Leander—this dangerous, man I never wanted anything to do with—was now going to enter my life. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Fudge!