Rebirth: Love me Again
Chapter 366: Homebound . . . ?

Chapter 366: Homebound . . . ?

[IRAYA]

I boarded the VIP business-class cabin, one carry-on and two designer suitcases in tow, determined to leave everything behind:

Jason, Kylie, and—most of all—Lyander. I sank into the leather seat, felt its soft embrace against my back, and sighed in satisfaction.

Finally, I was truly free. Jason and Kylie had gotten exactly what they deserved. Their quickie marriage, fueled by scandal and desperation, had collapsed under its own weight—no longer my concern.

This trip was about me—about reclaiming my place. I was stepping into a grown-up life, one where I didn’t have to answer to a reckless bad boy or fix his messes.

My return home wasn’t just a journey between cities—it was a reset. My family business waited, solidarity and responsibility beckoned. I’d wear power suits, not glittery dresses.

The plane took off in a rush of engines, and I marveled at my good fortune. With business wheels spinning beneath me and a fresh start ahead, I was successful, uncatchable, unbroken.

Everything was going my way for once.

I drifted into sleep, lulled by the hum of the engines and the idea of something better.

When I woke, I blinked at the overhead sign: "Welcome to Frizkiel International."

My heart skipped. That wasn’t where I’d expected to land. I checked my phone. It was passed the time that I should have landed in my own country.

What in the world was I doing in a country that was nearly a full day away from my own?

I had booked a direct, one-way flight—no layovers, no detours, no nonsense. Everything was first-class and accounted for. The stewardess had checked my ticket. I had checked it. Twice.

So how—how—did I end up here?

Did I somehow board the wrong plane? Was there some ridiculous mix-up? Nothing made sense.

What on earth is going on?

I twisted in my seat, surveying a terminal I’d never seen. This wasn’t my country. This was a mismatched mosaic of languages and climates—a foreign airport, simplified to the point of confusion.

I rubbed my eyes and looked to my right. Panic cut sharp when I saw him. Lyander—or someone who looked exactly like him—stretched his long limbs, yawning but with an alertness that froze my blood cold.

"How did you get on this flight?" I hissed under my breath, pulling my laptop screen higher like armor. My voice trembled, but barely enough to hide.

He glanced over with that dangerous half-smile—one perfectly curved corner, as if a joke was hiding behind it. "I thought you’d want company."

I swung around fully, eyes narrowed. "I booked a VIP ticket. I didn’t—"

He laughed softly. "And I bought one too, last minute. I wanted to go on a . . . little vacation see . . ."

My breath caught. All my careful planning shattered in a heartbeat. I was not blind; I’d seen the flashes—my suitcase disappearing in the overhead counter, and my carry-on bag nowhere to be seen.

"Why?" I demanded. My voice was low but wild. "Why are you here?"

His expression shifted, momentarily blank. "Because your contract with me isn’t over yet."

My jaw clenched. I turned back to the fake terminal windows, unable to face him. My mind whirled. When we’d parted, I was resolute. I was so done. So free. So—so loud and whole on my own.

But hearing his voice again . . . something unwound inside me.

"What contract," I said firmly. "I have paid that shirt more than enough already."

He slid closer, effortlessly invading the space I had tried to protect between us. His voice was low, calm, and maddeningly composed.

"No, you didn’t. I’ll be the one to tell you when your so-called debt is paid. And as of now, you’re coming with me—on this little vacation. Got that?"

I stared at him, completely baffled, frustrated, and increasingly furious at the sheer absurdity of this situation.

"What are you even talking about?!" I snapped, my voice rising. "You can’t just kidnap me and drag me to some foreign country! This is illegal!"

But even as the words left my mouth, I knew the truth.

Of course he could.

He was Lyander De Santis—the devil in a designer suit. The man powerful enough to rearrange a government flight path if he felt like it.

It suddenly made perfect, infuriating sense. He must’ve tampered with my flight, rerouted my destination, pulled strings no normal person had access to.

And for what? A joke? A power trip?

Lyander simply shrugged as passengers began disembarking around us.

"If you want to leave, then go," he said coolly, standing and adjusting his jacket like he wasn’t responsible for completely upending my life. "No one’s stopping you."

I blinked, stunned by the sheer audacity of his nonchalance. "What?"

"You’re free to walk out of here, Iraya. Just one tiny problem—" he looked at me with those infuriatingly unreadable eyes, "—you don’t have your passport, your wallet, or your phone. And, well . . . you’re not exactly fluent in the local language either."

My mouth fell open.

"You—You stole my stuff, didn’t you?!" I hissed, standing now, my fists clenched in rage. "Give them back!"

"I didn’t stole them," he corrected with a smirk. "I threw them out."

"Are you kidding me right now?!"

I was fuming. Absolutely fuming. This had to be illegal. Immoral. Ridiculous. Him.

This was classic Lyander—dismissing all rules, rewriting the narrative, and dragging me along like I was some pawn in his twisted little game.

He had gone through all this trouble, rerouted my life, hijacked my freedom—for what?

To prove that I still owed him?

To make me miserable?

To remind me that I belonged to him in some cosmic, karmic, coffee-stained-shirt kind of way?

Whatever it was, I wasn’t about to play along.

Even if he did have all my things.

Even if I was stuck in a foreign country.

Even if his stupid eyes and his smug face were the only familiar things in this entire godforsaken place.

He crossed his arms, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Come on, Iraya. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. You said you were done being my assistant—but clearly, the universe thinks otherwise."

I gritted my teeth. "The universe didn’t reroute my flight, you did!"

He smirked again. "Potato, potato. Don’t make out past things a big deal. Forget the little details and let’s go."