Rebirth: Love me Again

[IRAYA]

Barkley smirked. "Not so fast. I want something in return."

Lyander finally deigned to look at him. "Oh?"

"The Western Territory."

A slow grin spread across Lyander's face, and I immediately knew this was about to get messy.

He leaned against a rusty crate, all casual arrogance, before tilting his head. "That territory is mine."

Barkley's sneer deepened. "It was mine first!" His voice rose with frustration. "You think you can just waltz in, plant your flag, and expect me to hand it over?"

Lyander shrugged, completely unbothered. "Yeah."

Barkley let out a sharp breath, nostrils flaring. "Out of respect for your father, I tried to reach out, to settle this like men. But you? You're just as arrogant as the rumors say." His gold chains glinted under the dim warehouse lights as he stepped forward. "Your father would never steal my territory."

Lyander tilted his head, smirking. "I'm not my father." He took a slow step forward, his voice dropping to an easy drawl. "And haven't you heard? I take whatever territory I like." His grin sharpened. "Neither you nor my father can do anything about it."

So arrogant and full of himself—he thought everything belonged to him and that no one had the right to say no. Definitely not my type.

Barkley's jaw tightened. "Looks like the others were right. You can't be reasoned with. You're too damn arrogant for your own good." His voice darkened, laced with warning. "So now, I'll have to teach you a lesson."

Lyander's reaction? Laughter. A deep, rich chuckle, as if Barkley had just told him the funniest joke of the century. Then he tilted his head, amusement dancing in his sharp eyes.

"That's rich, coming from someone who hides behind a woman."

Silence.

Barkley's goons shifted uncomfortably. My eyes flicked between them, my survival instincts screaming that things were about to explode.

And then—

Barkley suddenly grabbed me by the collar and lifted me into the air like I weighed nothing. My breath hitched as my feet dangled, the pressure on my throat making it harder to breathe.

Okay. Things just got really dangerous, really fast.

"You mean this woman?" Barkley barked, his voice laced with mocking amusement. He turned me slightly, gripping my collar tighter as if I were nothing more than a ragdoll. "Is this woman so important to you, Lyander?"

Lyander, still standing in his usual relaxed posture, barely reacted. His expression remained calm—almost indifferent—but I caught the flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled just slightly at his sides. He was playing it cool, but I saw it. The worry in his eyes.

Why? Because his plaything was about to meet her end? Or was it guilt—guilt that I got dragged into his mess?

This was his fault in the first place!

Barkley smirked at the lack of response. "Let's see how important she really is."

With a swift motion, he pulled a gleaming knife from his belt and pressed it against my neck. A sharp sting followed as the blade bit into my skin, a thin line of blood trickling down. I stiffened, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Lyander moved.

The arrogance vanished in an instant, replaced by something unreadable. Before I could process it, he growled.

"STOP!"

A stunned silence filled the warehouse.

Barkley raised a brow, clearly entertained. "Now that's interesting," he mused, tapping the flat of the blade against my skin. "The great Lyander De Santis, worrying about one woman? That's a sight."

Lyander's gaze darkened, his voice steady but low. "Let. Her. Go."

For the first time since this nightmare started, I wasn't sure who should be more afraid—me or Barkley.

Barkley threw his head back and laughed, his voice booming through the warehouse. "Hahahaha! This is really amusing. Even you, Lyander? Falling so hard for a woman?"

Lyander shrugged, his expression unreadable. "She's my favorite right now, and I don't want her gone." His tone was light, almost indifferent, but the way his jaw tightened gave him away. "Fine. You want the western territory? I'll give it to you."

My heart pounded against my ribs. The sting of the blade against my neck was sharp, but I barely felt it over the anger simmering inside me. So I was right. It wasn't about me—it was about his damn amusement. How wonderful.

Barkley stroked his chin, pretending to consider it. "Hmm, tempting. But not enough." His gaze darkened, lips curling into a smirk. "If you want her back, get on your knees and apologize. Maybe then I'll consider it. Go on, De Santis—beg."

Silence fell over the room like a suffocating blanket.

Lyander didn't move. He didn't flinch.

"Don't push your luck," he warned, voice dangerously low.

Barkley responded by pressing the knife harder against my skin, drawing a thin line of blood. I hissed at the sharp sting.

"The next time I ask, the end of this blade will find itself at the back of her throat."

Oh, shit. I was going to die. There was no way—absolutely no way—that an arrogant, proud man like Lyander would ever—

I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch his face.

And my breath caught.

Slowly, with the same careless elegance he did everything, Lyander went down on one knee. Then the other.

I forgot about the blade. Forgot about the danger. My heart thundered in my chest, my mind struggling to comprehend what I was seeing. The Lyander De Santis—kneeling.

"For what it's worth," he said, his voice still calm, almost teasing, "I'm sorry."

Barkley and his men burst into laughter, mocking him without restraint.

"That's more like it!" Barkley sneered. "I don't care if you're a De Santis! Remember that, boy! You should thank your father I don't kill you right now. But the next time this happens, it's war."

Lyander's playful expression vanished, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. "Now let her go."

Barkley chuckled, then turned his gaze on me. "Looks like he really cares about you, babe. Aren't you a lucky girl?"