[IRAYA]
"Uhm . . . I'm not sure what Lyander has been telling you, but it's not true," I began, my voice wavering slightly as I sat in the grand, overly intimidating study of Don Gregory—Lyander's father and, quite possibly, the lord devil himself.
Seated in front of me, the father-son duo appeared as though they were planning world domination, with me as the sacrificial lamb.
Don Gregory, a man who could probably buy a country with the coins in his pocket, watched me with an unsettling level of amusement. Meanwhile, Lyander lounged beside him, legs crossed, wearing a grin that screamed smug.
I felt like a mouse cornered by two particularly chatty cats.
Let's rewind for a moment. After Lyander's spectacular little announcement at the holiday party—where he boldly declared his undying affection for me in front of everyone and their extended family—I'd barricaded myself in my room for the remainder of the holidays.
