The billionaire's stubborn mouse

​The fabric of the half-finished silk gown was supposed to be a soothing pastel pink, but right now, all Liyora Frank wanted to do was strangle her best friend with it. ​"One whole year, Liyora!" Elina paced across the cramped room, dangerously close to tripping over a stack of fashion magazines. She waved a pair of fabric scissors in the air for emphasis. "You ignored Eron Novak for three hundred and sixty-five days. Do you know how insane that is? People disappear for doing less to a man like him!" ​Liyora didn't look up from her sewing machine. She carefully pressed her foot against the pedal, the steady whir-whir-whir filling the space. "I didn't ignore him. I was simply... unavailable. Gaining inspiration abroad. My career demands focus, Elina." ​"Inspiration? You fled the country secretly like a thief in the night!" Elina snorted, dropping onto a nearby stool. "And today you just breeze back into the country, two days before the wedding, acting like you didn't just ghost the most powerful billionaire in the tech industry." ​Liyora stopped sewing. Her fingers tightened against the smooth silk. Returning home felt like stepping right into a trap, but she had to stay strong. She had a plan. ​"My sister is the one who dumped him and ran off with her boyfriend," Liyora pointed out, her voice dropping to a defensive whisper. "Why should I have to clean up her mess? My family only forced me into this contract because they care about the Novak family's money. I care about zippers, silhouettes, and fabric. Not tech CEOs." ​"Oh, please," Elina scoffed, a wicked assignment spreading across her face. "If my family forced me to marry Eron Novak, I would have signed the contract in blood before they could even finish the sentence. Have you seen his photos? The man looks like he was sculpted by gods who were having a really good day. He’s rich, he’s powerful, and he is dangerously handsome." ​Liyora finally looked up, rolling her eyes. "He is twenty-nine years old, Elina! He’s basically an old man. I am only twenty-three. We have absolutely nothing in common." ​"A six-year age gap is not 'old,' Liyora. It's mature. It's dominant," Elina teased, leaning forward. "Besides, word on the street is that he is incredibly tough. Ruthless in the boardroom, unyielding in real life. No one crosses him." ​"Exactly," Liyora muttered, a small, secretive smile playing on her lips as she thought about the fake medical report hidden safely in her designer tote bag. "He's tough, rigid, and expects everything to go his way. Which is exactly why he won't know what hit him when I hand him my little surprise tomorrow." ​Liyora pushed herself away from the sewing machine and stood up, walking over to the full-length mirror resting against the wall. She was only 5'4", but right now, she forced her spine straight, trying to look taller and more formidable than she felt. ​Staring back at her was a girl with a halo of long, blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders in wild, untamed waves. Her eyes, bright and stubborn, glared at her own reflection. A light dusting of freckles bridged across her nose, a youthful contrast to the fierce determination hardening her features. She looked young, yes, but she didn’t look like a victim. ​"You're actually going through with this today?" Elina asked, her playful tone completely vanishing as she watched Liyora pull a chic, oversized blazer over her shoulders. ​"I have to face them eventually," Liyora said, her voice tighter now. She smoothed down the fabric of her outfit, but her hands were trembling. "I'm heading to my parents' house. I know exactly what's waiting for me the second I step through that front door." ​Elina stood up from her stool, her expression shifting from amusement to deep worry. She saw the sudden change in Liyora’s eyes—the underlying fear that Liyora tried so hard to hide behind her stubborn attitude. ​"They're going to be furious, Liyora," Elina whispered, stepping closer. ​"Furious is an understatement," Liyora let out a bitter, breathless laugh. "They’ll probably want to slap me across the face the moment they see me. I ran away and left them to deal with the fallout. Meanwhile, my older sister is the one who ruined the arrangement in the first place, and they’re probably still protecting her, shielding her from Eron Novak's wrath." ​Seeing her best friend spiraling, Elina reached out, gently grabbing Liyora’s shoulders to ground her. "Hey. Look at me." Waiting until Liyora's stubborn eyes met hers, Elina gave her a comforting, reassuring squeeze. "You survived a whole year abroad on your own talent. You are a designer now. Don't let them make you feel small again. If things get too crazy, you call me, and I’ll come get you. Okay?" ​Liyora took a deep, shaky breath, nodding slowly. "Okay. Thank you, Elina." ​Putting on a pair of dark sunglasses to hide her nerves, Liyora grabbed her designer tote bag—with the fake pregnancy document resting safely inside—and walked out the door. It was time to face the lions. ​Liyora stepped out of Elina’s house, clutching her tote bag tightly against her ribs. "Goodbye! I'll call you the second I survive them!" she called out behind her, leaving the comforting hum of the sewing machine behind. ​The moment her heels hit the pavement, a cold prickle of awareness washed over her skin. She froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Someone was watching her. ​Liyora frowned, casting a sharp glance over her shoulder. She scanned the quiet street, expecting to see one of her family’s usual spies hiding behind a tree or a parked car. But there was nothing. Shaking her head to clear her paranoia, she hurried toward the yellow taxi waiting at the curb and slipped inside. ​She had no idea that the eyes tracing her every move didn't belong to her family at all. ​A few yards away, parked perfectly in the deep shadows of a street corner, sat a matte-black G-Wagon with heavily tinted windows. Inside the quiet, leather-scented cabin, the atmosphere was thick and commanding. ​Derek, Eron’s fiercely loyal right-hand man and secretary, leaned against the steering wheel. He watched the taxi pull away through the rearview mirror, an amused smirk playing on his lips. ​"You and her? Definitely north and south, boss," Derek chuckled, shaking his head. "Look at that little flame. She looks like a walking watercolor painting today. A light blue top, a cream skort, a matching jacket... she literally put on every color she could find just to look intimidating." ​In the backseat, shrouded in the darkness of the tinted glass, Eron Novak didn't immediately answer. He was dressed in a tailored, ink-black sleeveless shirt, the top two buttons undone to reveal the hard, unyielding lines of his collarbone. He looked less like a corporate CEO and more like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. ​A slow, dangerous smile crept onto Eron’s face—the rare, dark expression that only ever appeared when his thoughts turned entirely to Liyora Frank. ​"So, all of this was your grand design," Derek continued, his tone dropping into something more mature, teasing but deeply respectful of the man behind him. "You let her family think they were cornering her, just so she would fall right into your lap. And then the little mouse ran away across the border for a whole year." ​Eron leaned forward, his dominant presence instantly filling the space of the vehicle. His dark eyes locked onto the distant taillights of her taxi. ​"I like her," Eron’s voice was a low, gravelly baritone that carried a lethal weight. "She is a stubborn mouse. And following her dreams isn't a crime. But coming back home two days before our wedding? She definitely has a card up her sleeve to try and escape me again. I want to see exactly how she plays it." ​The taxi pulled up to the gates of the Frank family estate, and Liyora felt the air leave her lungs. The mansion loomed before her, a massive, towering structure of white marble and manicured lawns. To outsiders, it looked like a paradise. People always assumed that the walls of a mansion only housed happiness and luxury. ​But to Liyora, it was a gilded prison. ​Those grand walls had spent years keeping her cries safe from the outside world. If her parents ever discovered the truth—that she had completely ignored the business management diploma they forced her into, and instead secretly completed a fashion design course by threatening the university administration never to leak her files—they would lose their minds. She could still remember the smell of smoke from the fireplace when her father had burned her undone sketches right in front of her. ​A few yards down the road, the matte-black G-Wagon idled silently. From the driver’s seat, Derek watched Liyora’s small, hesitant steps as she approached the front doors. ​"She doesn't look happy, boss," Derek murmured, his voice losing its playful edge. "Are we just going to watch? Maybe you should head inside." ​In the backseat, Eron’s dark eyes never left Liyora’s retreating figure. "Not yet. I will go inside at the right time. When she needs me." ​To the rest of the world, she was Liyora Frank. But in his mind, she was his Liyo. His stubborn little mouse. She was the only girl in the entire world who had ever looked him in the eye, refused his power, and walked away. He thought back to the day her older sister had fled the country with her deadbeat boyfriend. Eron had cornered the sister, threatening to ruin her if she didn't leave quietly. He hadn't been angry that his fiancée ran away; he had been satisfied. Eron never loved the older sister. The engagement had simply been a cold, calculated chess move to build a path directly to Liyo. He was selfish, and he knew it. But he always got what he wanted. ​Inside the mansion’s grand foyer, the air was freezing. ​Liyora barely stepped into the room before her mother stepped forward. Her mother’s face was twisted in an arrogant, venomous scowl. Her father sat on a leather armchair nearby, refusing to even look in his daughter's direction. ​"You ungrateful little brat," her mother hissed. Without another word, her mother raised her hand, swinging it wildly to slap Liyora across the face. ​But Liyora was no longer the frightened girl who let her sketches be burned. She nimbly edged to the side, dodging the blow. Her mother staggered slightly, gasping in shock. ​From the armchair, her father’s voice boomed across the room. "Enough! Get ready for the wedding. It is happening in two days, whether you like it or not. The Novaks hold our debt." ​"I don't think so," Liyora said, her voice shaking but resolute. She reached into her tote bag, pulled out a folded packet of medical documents, and slammed them onto the table in front of her mother. "Read it. The wedding is off." ​Her mother snatched up the papers, her eyes scanning the forged medical text. Her face went completely pale. "She's... she's pregnant." ​"What?!" Her father roared, his face turning crimson with rage. He lunged out of his chair, stepping forward with his large hand raised high, descending toward Liyora with terrifying force. ​Liyora flinched, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the impact. ​But the slap never came. ​A sudden, deadly silence fell over the room. Liyora opened her eyes to see a large, heavily tattooed hand clad in an ink-black sleeve catching her father's wrist effortlessly mid-air. ​Eron Novak stood like a shadow behind her, his grip tightening like a steel vice until her father gasped in pain. Eron’s dark eyes locked onto her trembling form, a dangerous, possessive smirk playing on his lips. ​"I don't appreciate people laying hands on my child's mom," Eron whispered.