LYONIC

"You wish!" I snapped, defiance laced in my voice. Like I was going to kowtow to his preposterous demands.

Lyon's dark eyes glinted with annoyance and amusement as he threw over his shoulder a final, "Fine. Just you wait!"

The smug grin on his face sent a shiver down my spine as he turned and walked away.

I stood, still feeling the weight of his presence lift, but not before Lyon's words went in, lashing my skin with lingering venom. I could only stand, feeling my heart pound wildly. I knew he wouldn't let this go, and I was already dreading the aftermath of his vendetta.

I hadn't had time to dwell on that thought when I felt the warm catch of a hand around mine. I gasped as I turned into Lyon, his brow furrowed in concern.

Sommy, what happened?" His voice was low, but the weight in his eyes made my heartbeat quiver. "Who was that?"

I shook my head, desperate to get rid of the quivering inside me. "It's nothing," I forced myself to smile, knowing it was unconvincing. My gaze flickered nervously away into the distance, well aware that Lyon would not let this go so easily. "Let's just go."

And as we walked, the mood grew heavier; even the air weighed. I could feel it—the tautness in the air, the presentiment of an event to happen. We were suddenly surrounded.

A whole army of men in combat suits barred the way, and their guns were zeroing in on us with chilly precision.

My breath caught in my throat. I could hardly hear Lyon's voice over the pounding of my heart as I gripped his hand, my palms clammy.

"This is bad," I whispered, hardly audible.

Lyon didn't flinch, his expression unreadable. But I saw the tightening of his jaw. He was ready. We were going to fight this, together.

One of them, apparently the leader judging by his stride and armor, stepped forward. Cold, his eyes were masked by dark goggles. "Mr. Obi, is this the one you were speaking of?"

Lyon straightened his back. "Yes, Sommy Lanka's here without an invitation," he said in a steady voice. "And if she's here, something's not right."

I couldn't breathe. What was going on? I hadn't done anything wrong-had I?

The man in the lead, James Lewis, turned to another guard. His voice was full of disregard. "Does anybody know her? What is she doing here without an invite?"

I watched Lyon's eyes narrow, and he stepped closer to the group. His gaze was sharp and calculating. "You should check your records," he said, his voice carrying an authority I couldn't quite place. "I'm sure you'll find my name."

I saw the flicker of confusion in James's eyes as he radioed someone. Then, unmistakable laughter came from his side.

Mark, the other member of Lyon's crew, moved forward, with mockery in his voice: "You really think that we are going to fall for that, James? A joke."

His face flushed, his fingers tightened on his gun, and his voice thundered, "What is funny, Mark?"

"It's simple," Lyon chimed, the tension finally broken. "We have no invite to be here. In through proper channels we came. But you," he accused pointing at James, "caused an issue in the first place, peace disturbance. Anyone is going to jail today-it is you."

James laughed unsteadily. "What's that supposed to mean? There's just no chance that you've managed to get in here without-

Before he could even get his words out, the sharp sound of a voice came from behind. A familiar figure emerged from the crowd, walking with an air of undeniable power.

"Mr. Obi, is there some kind of problem here?"

It was Peter, the supervisor of the whole event. His mere presence froze everybody in their tracks, and James turned pale.

"I. I…" James stammered, his eyes darting from Peter to Lyon as realization dawned. "I… I didn't know…"

Peter's gaze swept over James coldly. "You're dismissed. Now."

The whole phalanx of security guards seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief as they all backed away. But for James, there was no escape from what he had brought upon himself.

Without another word, Peter turned his focus to us. "Mr. Obi, Miss Lanka, my sincerest apologies for the disturbance. You're both more than welcome here."

I had hardly digested the event when James was dragged away, bloody, pride wounded. The air that had been so tense a moment before was finally free of that weight, but the eyes of the rest of the people weighed heavily on us. Lyon's presence demands respect, even from an entire security team.

Are you okay?" Lyon asked, his hand still clamped onto mine. There was something reassuring in the way his fingers stroked mine, grounding me.

"I don't know what just happened," I said, trying to catch my breath. "What did you say to them?"

Lyon smiled slightly, an enigmatic smile. "I told them the truth. That I don't need an invitation to be here. And that James had made a grave mistake."

I'd stared into the abyss, eyes wide. "But how did you know he'd get arrested?"

Lyon's eyes gentled. "I didn't know. But I knew he'd push too far. People like him always do."

We turned toward the banquet hall, where the room had changed. What once was tense was now filed with whispers of awe.

"Come on," Lyon said lightly now, "let's enjoy tonight. It's just really getting started."

I couldn't shake this feeling of unease that lingered in my chest, but confidence seemed to ooze from Lyon. As we entered the grand hall, I saw Lagos high society in one spot—businessmen, celebrities, and who's who of the city.

A few glances were exchanged, some curious, others judgmental, but I couldn't let that bother me now. Lyon had taken charge of the situation, and in a way, I was starting to realize he could handle anything.

We found a corner, and Lyon suggested we relax. "You should walk around, meet some people. I think you'll like it here," he said with a wink.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you telling me to mingle?"

"Why not? You're here as my guest, after all," he replied, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Before I could say anything, I noticed something-everyone in the room was carrying a gift. A minor but all-so-telling gesture, and suddenly, I felt self-conscious. We had nothing. Nothing to give. Nothing with which to buy respect.

Caitlyn, Lyon's mother, was suddenly at my side, alert to my disquiet. "Are you okay, dear?" she asked, her tone low and reassuring.

I nodded, but I was muddled in my mind. "I didn't know the rules."

She smiled knowingly. "People like us understand the unwritten rules. Just be yourself."

"But what about the gifts?" I asked, looking at the others.

Lyon chuckled, overhearing. "The God of War doesn't care about gifts. He cares about loyalty and respect."

"Are you sure about that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned in closer. "Trust me. We're exactly where we're supposed to be."

And for the first time that evening, I believed him.