Rebirth: Love me Again
Chapter 367: Detour to Destiny

Chapter 367: Detour to Destiny

[IRAYA]

The final curl of smoke from the airport’s departure board disappeared from view as the VIP van carried me toward the city skyline I hadn’t seen in months.

I sat in silence, the tension wrapped around me like a too-tight coat. The betrayal, the confusion, the sheer absurdity of how I ended up here—all of it slammed into me over and over again.

Beside me, Lyander finally broke the silence.

"You must be pissed," he said, voice low. "You have every right to be. But this is your chance, actually . . ."

My fingers tightened around the handle of my bag. "Chance of what exactly?"

He grinned in that infuriating way, but I didn’t let him finish. I turned my face away and stared out the window, watching the city unfold.

Snow-blanketed rooftops. Frost-kissed trees. Vendors bundled in wool and fur-lined coats called out from their market stalls, warm breaths puffing into clouds.

Such a cold country but one of the richest in the world for its gold and mineral deposits.

As our van climbed through Frizkiel’s familiar streets, I sat frozen beside Lyander—figuratively and literally.

The icy silence between us matched the chill beyond the windows.

I clenched the handle of my coat tighter. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by a frostbitten glove. I had hoped to feel . . . relief. Peace. But all I felt was pressure building behind my ribs.

Snow-draped trees lined the winding drive like ghostly sentinels. Beyond them rose a stone manor, carved into the side of a frozen hill—isolated, pristine, and annoyingly beautiful.

The kind of place you’d retreat to if you had secrets, or too much money to know what to do with.

Lyander’s private estate.

Of course, it had to be this.

When the van pulled to a stop, the crunch of snow under the tires was the only sound for a moment. The engine died. Silence took over—thick, cold, and absolute.

There was no cell signal. I’d checked five times. No bars. No Wi-Fi. No emergency escape plans.

I was snowed in at the peak of nowhere, a twenty-hour flight from my own country, and worst of all, I was with him.

The driver got out and began unloading our luggage, but I stayed frozen in my seat.

"Iraya," Lyander said gently, his voice warm against the cold air seeping into the van.

I turned to him slowly, trying to keep my temper locked behind clenched teeth. "You boarded the same flight. You followed me. You kidnapped me here. And for what?"

He didn’t deny it. "I know."

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Relax," Lyander said as the van slowed to a stop in front of a sweeping stone manor. "Your debt’s not paid yet. And think of this as a vacation."

I let out a cold laugh. "Oh really? Because I’m getting more hostage vibes than holiday spirit. No phone. No internet. No clue where I am. Sounds like paradise."

His expression didn’t change. "It’s my private estate in Frizkiel. Remote. Peaceful. Safe. While I’m on vacation, you should treat it like one too."

"Peaceful?" I stepped out into the biting wind. "This is a plush prison. No exits, no contact with the outside world—just enough wool blankets to soften the fact that I’ve been kidnapped."

The heavy front doors creaked open. A butler in a thick coat bowed politely. "Welcome, Mr. De Santis. Miss Lee. Your rooms are prepared."

"Rooms?" I said flatly.

Lyander gave me one of those smug half-smiles. "Separate ones. For your comfort."

I would’ve thrown my bag at his face if my fingers weren’t already frozen. But I followed him inside, mostly because there was nowhere else to go—and partly because I didn’t want to freeze to death proving a point.

The warmth hit me like walking into another world. A roaring fireplace. A ceiling strung with chandeliers. Polished wood floors.

It was beautiful.

Of course it was.

And I hated how a small part of me already felt comfortable here.

But that didn’t change the fact: I was stuck. In the middle of nowhere. With him.

The next few hours blurred together. I unpacked the essentials into a guest room that was bigger than my entire apartment.

Velvet curtains, heated floors, a view of snow-covered pine trees stretching into forever. It should’ve felt luxurious. Instead, it felt like a well-decorated cage.

There were already expensive clothes in the wardrobe. Designer bags. Shoes. Even jewelry—every piece clearly handpicked.

All of it from Lyander. Of course.

And yet . . . wasn’t I supposed to be here to serve him? Pay for his ruined black shirt and drenched pride? Dry up his bruised ego?

Why the hell was he giving me these?

None of it made sense. Not the gifts. Not the kidnapping. Not him.

I really couldn’t understand Lyander De Santis.

Not one damn bit.

At dinner, I picked at my food in a grand hall that looked like it belonged in a historical drama.

Lyander sat at the far end of the long table, sipping wine like the whole situation was perfectly normal.

He looked up at one point and said, "You can scream, you know. If it helps."

"I might," I muttered. "But I’m saving my energy. I’ll need it to dig a tunnel out with a dessert spoon."

He smirked.

Of course he did.

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. I found myself drifting through the library, then the conservatory.

Wrapped in a thick shawl, I pressed my palm to the frosted glass and stared out at the snow.

And naturally—he was there.

Lyander stood near the window, mug in hand, eyes on the stars.

"You have a real talent for showing up where you’re not wanted," I said.

He didn’t turn. "You always pace when you’re annoyed."

"I’m not annoyed."

He finally glanced over. "Then disappointed?"

"Angry. Unamused. Angry. You pick."

He stepped toward me, slowly. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I felt it.

"I’m not keeping you prisoner, Iraya."

"Sure," I said. "Because this whole setup doesn’t scream trapped heroine in an off-the-grid snow fortress."