The invitation wasn’t a peace offering.
It was a declaration of war.
Engraved gold lettering on heavy cardstock, hand-delivered like it was a wedding invite. But I knew better.
"Villarosa x Sarmiento "
I almost laughed.
It was always formal when my family wanted to manipulate someone.
I flipped the card once or twice before tossing it on the piano, letting the silence swallow the echo.
They wanted me there.
Because I was the last signature missing.
Because I still held the name, they needed to seal the deal.
I hadn’t seen Rafael Lior Sarmiento in three years.
Not since I walked out of our arranged engagement with a smile and a broken contract.
Not since I told him I’d rather burn in hell than wear his last name.
Tonight, he was back.
And wait.
I arrived late, on purpose.
The Villarosa mansion hadn’t changed—too many chandeliers, too many secrets.
I walked in wearing black. No diamonds. No apologies.
The table was full.
Board members, politicians, my parents—faces carved in ambition. And at the head…
Him.
Rafael stood when I entered. Always polite. Always composed.
God, I hated how he hadn’t aged a day. Same sharp suit. Same colder eyes.
“Zyra,” he greeted, like my name didn’t taste like betrayal on his tongue.
“Rafael,” I replied, taking the empty seat across from him. “Still pretending we’re civilized?”
He smiled with his eyes, not his lips. “Only when we need something.”
And there it was—the truth behind the wine, the smiles, the chandeliers.
They needed something.
I was the wildcard.
I was the thorn they tried to bury.
And Rafael?
He wasn’t here to fix me.
He was here to outplay me.
But they all forgot one thing.
I learned from the best.