The photographers fired off more shots as Lance guided me through the doors into the cool, elegant restaurant lobby.
I let out a shaky breath the moment we stepped inside.
"Holy shit," I whispered. "I feel like I'm in a teleserye."
He smirked faintly.
"Better get used to it. You're my wife now. People are going to talk."
He glanced at his watch.
"Mother's not here yet. Let's sit down."
He steered me toward a reserved table near the window.
As we crossed the dining area, the hostess led us past elegant tables filled with wealthy patrons, business executives, and chic socialites.
I kept my head down, praying no one would recognize me.
Then my entire body froze.
Because two familiar voices drifted toward me from a table nearby.
"…I'm just saying, Jules, it's not that simple. You can't just move into my condo without talking to my parents first…"
"I told you, babe, I'll handle it. They'll love me. I'm practically their son-in-law now…"
My head snapped up.
Sitting barely ten feet away, laughing over coffee, were Bianca and Jules.
For a split second, the entire room seemed to tilt sideways.
Jules was wearing a fitted polo shirt, his hair perfectly styled, looking every bit the smooth talker I used to adore.
Bianca sat beside him, wearing a soft pink blouse, her cheeks flushed with happiness.
They were holding hands across the table.
Then Bianca glanced up and her eyes landed on me.
Her face went pale in an instant.
Her hand slipped out of Jules's.
Jules followed her gaze.
When he saw me, his eyes widened and then narrowed into a cold, assessing glare.
"Maya?" Bianca croaked.
I stiffened.
My chest heaved, air suddenly too thin in my lungs.
Jules let out a mocking snort.
"Wow. Look who's here. The ex-fiancée."
I tried to speak but no words came out.
I felt nailed to the floor.
Lance's hand tightened on mine.
In one smooth motion, he stepped closer to me, shielding me partially behind his body.
His dark eyes locked onto Jules with icy disdain.
"Maya Villanueva," Lance corrected coolly. "My wife."
Bianca gasped.
Jules blinked rapidly, as though trying to process the words.
"Wife?" he echoed, scoffing. "Oh, come on. You expect me to believe that shit? She's probably just another side piece you picked up for a week."
The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees around us.
Lance's voice dropped to a deadly softness.
"Careful how you speak about my wife, Ramirez."
Jules gave a sharp, humorless laugh.
"Or what? You'll throw me into a wall again?"
Lance tilted his head slightly.
A slow, cold smile curved his lips.
"If necessary."
Jules's bravado slipped for a fraction of a second.
Bianca reached out to tug at his arm, eyes wide and panicked.
"Jules, please, just leave it."
But Jules shook her off
He sneered at me.
"So what, Maya? You think playing billionaire's wife makes you better than us? You're still the same desperate girl who begged me not to leave."
Lance stepped even closer.
When he spoke, his voice was like ice cracking.
"Let me make something very clear, Ramirez. Maya is my wife. You don't speak to her. You don't look at her. And if you ever come near her again, I will bury you so deep legally and financially that you'll be begging on EDSA for coins. Do you understand me?"
Jules's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Bianca tugged at him again, whispering urgently.
"Let's go, Jules. Please."
Jules hesitated.
For a second, he looked like he might say something else.
But then Lance simply stared him down, radiating pure lethal calm.
Finally, Jules cursed under his breath and allowed Bianca to pull him away.
They left the restaurant quickly, heads ducked, avoiding everyone's stares.
I let out a shaky breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
My entire body was trembling.
Lance turned to me, his voice low and quiet.
"You okay?"
I blinked rapidly, trying not to cry.
"I… I think so."
He brushed his thumb lightly over my cheek, checking for tears.
"Don't let them get in your head," he said firmly. "They're nothing. And they're not part of your life anymore."
I stared up at him, stunned.
In that moment, Lance Villanueva, the ruthless billionaire, the man who terrified people with a single look felt like the safest place in the world.
He tucked my hair behind my ear, then slipped his arm around me again.
"Come on," he said. "We still have my mother to face."
I nodded, swallowing hard.
And together, we walked toward our table, leaving Jules and Bianca and my old life behind us.
I could barely feel my feet as Lance and I walked deeper into the restaurant.
My pulse was still thundering in my ears after the run-in with Jules and Bianca.
But Lance's arm stayed firmly around my waist, guiding me forward with steady, silent confidence.
We reached a private section of the restaurant shielded by elegant wooden screens.
A waiter bowed deeply as Lance approached.
"Sir, your mother has arrived. She's waiting inside."
My stomach dropped to my shoes.
Oh God. Here we go.
Lance paused just outside the entrance and turned to face me.
His dark eyes searched mine, calm and unreadable.
"You okay?" he asked.
I swallowed hard.
"Define 'okay.'"
He let out a quiet huff of amusement.
"Fair enough."
He cupped my chin gently.
"Maya… whatever happens in there, you stick to the story. You're my wife. You love me. You're happy."
My chest tightened.
"Your mother is going to see right through me, Lance."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"You underestimate yourself."
"I'm not an actress!" I hissed.
He leaned in, murmuring so only I could hear.
"Just keep looking at me like you did earlier. Like I'm the only man in the world."
I smacked his arm lightly.
"Stop saying things like that!"
He smirked.
"See? You're already convincing."
Before I could argue further, he held out his arm.
"Ready, Mrs. Villanueva?"
I took a deep breath and slipped my hand through his arm.
"No. But let's go anyway."
The waiter pulled the screen aside, revealing a long table set with sparkling crystal glasses and elegant silverware.
Seated at the center, in a crisp maroon dress and pearl earrings, was Lucinda Villanueva.
She looked exactly as I remembered her from the brief glimpse yesterday outside the hotel:
Perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair.
Regal posture.
Dark eyes sharp enough to slice through steel.
She exuded quiet power, like a queen holding court.
Lucinda lifted her gaze as we approached.
Her eyes flicked over Lance first, softening almost imperceptibly.
Then they landed on me.
And froze.
A long, taut silence filled the space between us.
Lucinda's eyes traveled from my expensive cream dress, to my styled hair, to the delicate pearl earrings.
Then she lifted one elegant brow.