She knew. She felt it.
He didn't show up by chance. He came for her. Not when she froze in shock—and he stood in calm silence. Not when his obsidian eyes held a spark of impenetrable tenacity. With him, nothing was ever simple.
Not him.
She refused. More than once. She lost count. Of time. It's just too complicated.
But—god, he was stubborn.
He stayed, listened, caressed her—until she broke.
She remembered.
Back then.
He was sitting in a dim corner, away from the noise. Dressed in black. Long legs crossed. A glass in his hand. Striking looks. Slicked-back hair. Dark eyes, sharp at the corners. Always watching.Girls fawning from a distance.
She learned his name: Claude Maximilian Gosuico.
They spoke only twice—about computer chips. First, at a university conference. Second, at a science fair. She was a senior student. He, a new tech investor. She saw him several more times, always from a distance—his tall frame walking away. Or the side of his face as he listened to someone else. Always bored. Or unreadable. Polite, but distant.
Sometimes, she caught traces of him in the news—never directly, but through a string of people or things tied to him. He was never spoken about. He wasn't the king on the board. He moved in the unseen, boundles space beyond it. The kind of presence that lorded a giant shadow. Or a name that made some people flinch.
And that was all between them.
She moved abroad for her master's.
A year later, she was shocked to find him standing at her apartment door.
That same cool gaze—now softened, focused.
A man ready to win her over.
She resisted.
She had her reasons—her history with his brother.
And everyone else.
But he was persistent.
Shockingly—shamelessly—so.
And he was clear from the start. He'd been watching her from a quiet distance—for a long time. It didn't matter that she'd once tangled with his "kid brother." He just shrugged, grinned a little, called himself the better man. Her work didn't scare him—engineering, the long hours. That was fine. He said he'd back her. Research, a company, whatever she wanted—he'd make it happen. No need to worry about the others. He'd take care of it.
What he wanted was simple: When her internship ended, they'd go home.
And marry.
And the internship had just ended.
Yes—it ended.
And she felt nothing.
She lay on the bed and breathed.
The thing was…
She still couldn't face Lyron Matthias.
Claude's brother.
*
Iyana woke up at six.
She padded quietly to the kitchen and slid onto a bar stool beside the island table. She poured herself a glass of water and drank in silence. Her eyes drifted to Claude's back as he moved calmly, cooking something on the stove. He'd arrived last night from a trip to Country D—not far from Country G, where she was living now for her internship. She couldn't figure out where he got all that energy—off the plane, into bed, and now cooking likenothing happened. Claude placed the food on a plate, turned, and caught sight of her. Then he set a smaller plate of pancakes in front of her. The strawberry apron made it easy to forget he was a powerful mogul.
"We've run out of oranges," he said as he took the stool beside her.
"Hm," she murmured, slicing the pancake with her fork.
"We'll get some later," she added between bites, not looking up.
"How is it?"
"Tastes good."
"Then have some more," he said. "Making pancakes wasn't as tricky as I thought."
Her face stayed blank. It was the instant mix—the kind whereyou just add water.
"We'll go home in three days," he added.
She stopped—
then looked over her shoulder.
He was sipping his coffee.
A lazy twist curved his lips when he met her gaze.
She rolled her eyes, faintly. He obviously knew what his words carried.
"You're suddenly a cat in the morning," he said.
"When?" she asked softly.
"In three days." He took another sip of coffee.
"I thought it'd be next week."
He gave a quiet snort. "That's too far."
She frowned. "Does your mother know?"
"Everyone knows," he said, then paused. "In the family."
Her eyes dropped to her plate.
"Surprised?" he said.
She looked at him, wondering what he'd told them.
"They must have asked questions, right?"
"They said I got lucky."
She fluttered, then steadied.
"Lian, I'm serious."
"I told them you're an engineer for computer chips."
She said nothing.
Her gaze drifted, unfocused—and then he gave her cheek a light pinch.
Her startled eyes snapped back to his.
"Which part are you worried about?" he said, his tone soft.
"They will cherish you. I've made sure of that."
He sipped his coffee.
"Mother will have the daughter she's always wanted.
"And Lyron, well—"
He paused, lips curving slightly.
"He should be happy to see his future sister-in-law."
She looked at him.
"Does he really know about us?"
"He heard it at the family meeting."
She frowned, her brows tightening. What's that even supposed to mean?
"When did this meeting happen?"
"Last week."
Her lips parted—then pressed thin.
She wanted to ask more about Lyron, but knew she'd get nothing from Claude.
"Your friends know too?"
"You know I've made it clear," he said. "I have a girlfriend. But you asked me to keep your name out of it. I did—for three years."
He refilled a cup from the pot and set it in front of her.
"But when we return—even if we're just engaged—there's no point in hiding anymore."
She watched as he forked a steak and took a bite.
"I just got accepted into the Institute. The higher-ups know you there," she said. Even scholars had their share of sycophants and shamelessness. "I've got no patience for nosy people."
He smiled—dry and crooked.
"So we're in a dilemma. Between the prying… and the plotting."
She just looked at him.
He met her gaze.
"It'll just stir up more trouble," he added. "You've seen the tabloids for years."
Her gaze slipped away.
She sipped her coffee.
She knew her need for secrecy had pulled him into petty dramas he never asked for. While she lived quietly in the shadows for three years, he dealt with the press and scheming women. At first, he found it all mildly amusing. She saw it from their first encounter—him sitting in a dark corner, gaze wry while girls tried to catch his eye. Now that gaze held flashes of sharp iciness—cold enough to numb a brain.
At one point, the press decided some famous actress was his secret girlfriend, just because she happened to sit beside him at two events. When the actress got caught in a scandal, Gosuico Group had to release a statement. A dozen lawsuits were filed against the press. Another woman—a heiress—snapped a photo of him when he visited her father's office. People online ran wild for months, calling her the mystery girlfriend. Later, a video of her leaving a party early shot to the top of trending news. The story: she'd collapsed. Claude, nearby, just stood there. The video caught women laughing—saying her little act hadn't worked on whoever she was aiming for. Claude was never mentioned. But it became clear what their relationship really was.
And that, too, had become the fate of others.
But he put up with it. Because it would all end the moment she came back.
"Nan."
His low, warm voice snapped her back to her senses.
"Let's do it," she said slowly—then held her cup closer to her mouth.
"No matter what," she sighed, "I'm still a famous story just for being your woman."
Then she sipped.
He caught a few strands of her hair and brushed them back behind her ear.
"They're idiots," he said, his voice quieter.
"Well, they say the world's always run by the idiotic."
She smirked, faintly, then looked at him.
"Except you. You're a madman."
His mouth curled into a slow smile.
"The madman adores you."
"Hm."
She stopped—her smile fading—then looked at him.
"But aren't you going to be really busy with that facility project?"
"I have people who'll handle it," he said. "Just worry about your work at N.U."
"Alright."
"You'll see your aunt soon."
Her lips curved. "She'll have a lot of questions."
"We'll visit her."
"Let's buy suitcases later. Oranges too," she said.
"As you wish."
*