A Ring and a Lie

"Every move she made now... was war in stilettos."

The morning sun bled through the glass walls of the Velasco estate like gold laced with ice. Everything here felt designed to impress but not to comfort—like Dominic himself.

Lyra sat at the edge of the long dining table, a full breakfast spread untouched before her.

Croissants. Smoked salmon. Imported fruits. The best of everything.

She had eaten better meals on plastic plates with strangers in Europe—meals that actually meant something.

Dominic entered precisely at 7:00 a.m., dressed in a charcoal suit, not a hair out of place. He didn't greet her. Didn't even look her way until he poured his coffee.

"I've scheduled an engagement announcement dinner. Saturday night. Media and corporate figures only."

Lyra sipped her tea. "So formal. No family?"

He looked at her then. "None worth inviting."

She hummed. "We have that in common."

A pause.

Something flickered in his eyes—something too fast to catch.

"I'll send Lucas to prep you for the interviews," he said.

She raised her left hand and wiggled her fingers. "And the ring?"

"You'll get it this afternoon. Our brands are already negotiating sponsorship. You'll wear Seraphine. They want photos for PR."

Lyra's smile didn't reach her eyes. "So romantic."

Dominic sat across from her, eyes unreadable. "This is a business arrangement. You wanted it that way."

"I did," she replied coolly. "And I'm not complaining. I'm just playing my part."

He studied her like one would study a loaded weapon—appreciating its craftsmanship, but cautious of its aim.

"Just don't forget which part you're playing."

She leaned in slowly. "I never forget roles, Mr. Velasco. I rewrite them."

By noon, Lyra was at the flagship Seraphine showroom, half a dozen stylists swarming her like bees to honey.

The press already had wind of the visit.

Paparazzi flashes exploded outside the window.

She tried on ring after ring, each one more obscene in value than the last.

White gold with pink diamonds.

Rose gold with sapphire halos.

Platinum bands with single emeralds.

None felt right.

Until she slipped on the last one.

A sleek, minimal platinum ring with one cold, perfect black diamond.

Bold. Unapologetic. Unsentimental.

Lyra turned her hand under the light.

It was beautiful.

But it wasn't a promise.

It was armor.

That evening, back at the estate, Dominic glanced at her hand as she stepped inside.

He said nothing.

Just nodded in approval.

Lyra smirked. "Don't you want to say it looks lovely?"

He shrugged off his coat. "I don't give compliments I don't mean."

She stepped closer, voice low. "And if you ever do, I'll know you're lying."

Their eyes locked.

Another silent war.

Later, as the city glowed beneath them, Lyra stood by the window, thinking of the fire.

Thinking of the night her family tried to erase her.

She twisted the black diamond on her finger.

The world thought it symbolized love.

But to her, it symbolized something far more powerful.

Survival.

And the truth?

She didn't need anyone's love.

She just needed their fear.

She wore his name, his ring, his wealth—but none of it could touch her fire. Not anymore.