Lorraina: The Billionaire's Plaything

(LORRAINA'S POV)

Zinnia gasped loudly, clutching her necklace as though it could protect her from whatever she was seeing. The guests had all begun whispering in a thick, rolling murmur.

For a breathless second, I thought I was standing with Grey. I could feel the warmth of his palm, the steady certainty of his touch. But when I forced my eyes open, it wasn't Grey at all.

My hand rested on Levander's. It was Levander all this while,what was I thinking?

Grey was still where he'd been,standing beside Krystal, his gaze locked on me with something between fury and devastation.

It had all been my imagination.

Levander's arm settled firmly around my waist, claiming me before the entire room. He looked at me as though I were some puzzle he intended to dismantle piece by piece.

Then the music shifted, and a familiar ache bloomed in my chest.

Before You Go began to play.

Of all songs, he chose that one?

He guided me onto the dance floor. The cameras flashed in a violent rhythm, desperate to capture every angle of the scene. His hand pressed into the small of my back, and we started to move.

His steps were precise—measured, almost too smooth. To the watching crowd, it probably looked romantic. But to me, it felt more like choreography he'd practiced for years.

His breath fanned over my ear.

"Try not to look so miserable," he murmured under the song. "You're supposed to look happy."

"I didn't ask you to save me," I whispered back.

"Remember what I told you?Smile no matter what don't ruin my reputation!"He said.

His grip tightened a fraction. "You think this reception everything, for you?".

I rolled my eyes inwardly,I didn't expect much from him,who cares?

Lagatha stood off to the side, her smile tight, her eyes distant. For a moment, she looked almost proud,like she could see her daughter in my place, where she'd always imagined she'd be.

Krystal's expression was harder to read. She didn't even pretend to smile. Something darker flickered across her face,jealousy, maybe, or something uglier.

And Grey…

He was still staring. His eyes had gone dark, almost hollow. Every second Levander's hand touched me, it was like he was fighting not to cross the floor and rip us apart.

A few guests were murmuring just loud enough that I could hear:

"Aww, maybe he offended her. That's why he picked that song."

"She's so pretty…"

"They look perfect, don't they?"

Aurora rolled her eyes, loud enough for the nearest table to hear.

"I wish she were Laura," she hissed to Andrew.

"Laura was better in every possible way…"

Andrew rubbed his forehead, exhausted. "Can you stop, Aurora? Just for once?"

"You keep supporting this girl for what?" Aurora snapped back.

"She's also someone's daughter".

"Yes dad, a murderer's daughter" Zinnia cut in from behind.

"Can we live peacefully for once, did you see anyone fighting here? Must we carry this hatred in our heart all the time?" Georgia muttered.

"I don't care, I don't care Georgia, she has to pay for her father's sins, that's important" Zinnia said.

Aurora said nothing and Andrew he couldn't bring himself to yell at his wife or hit his daughter. When will all this nonsense stop?

Georgia was watching with a dreamy smile.

"Have you ever seen Levander look this calm? It's like he's finally…content."

Thorfinn didn't speak. He looked as though he was about to be sick. His gaze kept locking with mine, full of unspoken things.

When the song ended, Levander didn't release me.

He guided me to a table, settled me carefully into a chair as if all of this was perfectly normal.

"Levi, what are you doing?" I wondered. Acting sweet for the cameras? For them? For some twisted revenge I still don't understand?

I didn't have time to ask.

A journalist in a sleek gray suit materialized at our side. He bowed low, his too-white smile already working overtime.

"Mr. Smith," he greeted.

"Mrs. Smith. Thank you for agreeing to a few questions for Empire Weekly. Our readers are so eager to know your story."

Levander's face transformed into a gracious mask.

"Of course," he said, his voice like silk.

The reporter flicked a hand at his assistant. The camera light blinked on, bright enough that I had to look away.

"Let's start simple," the reporter began.

"Tell us,how did you two meet?"

Levander's gaze drifted to me, assessing, calculating.

"At a charity gala," he said smoothly. "She was standing alone. She looked…remarkable."

What charity Gala?I have never met him,is he mad?Has he finally turned to a liar overnight?

I forced myself to smile.

"Yes," I murmured, "that was the first time."

"And was it love at first sight?" the reporter pressed.

Levander's jaw flexed. Just for an instant.

"Something like that," he said finally.

His fingers skimmed the back of my chair, a gesture that to anyone else would look affectionate.

To me, it felt like a cage.

"Before you met have you ever been in love?"

That hit him hard, he recalled Laura's face, her smiles, her laughter and her shape, damn so unforgettable.

"Yes once."

"And Mrs. Smith" the reporter turned to me.

"Was he your first love?"

I felt the blood drain from my face.Grey stared at me and I swallowed. My eyes moved from Grey's to Thorfinn. He gaze at me with so much emotions which I couldn't understand, though from where he was I saw it,he looks empty,so empty.

Levander's thumb tapped once, deliberately.

"Yes," I lied. "He was."

"Beautiful," the reporter sighed.

"And Mr. Smith,what was it about your wife that drew you in?"

Levander tilted his head, wearing a thoughtful expression so convincing I almost believed it.

"She looked…innocent," he said softly.

"Too good for the world she'd been born into."

My heart twisted painfully.

"And you, Mrs. King?"

I tried not to let my voice shake.

"He was…kind."Nothing of the sort,he was cruel a complete monster.

Levander's thumb went still.

"And persistent," I added quickly.

The reporter nodded, scribbling.

"Did either of you ever imagine you'd end up married?"

Levander's smile didn't waver.

"Fate has a sense of humor," he said.

"And…are you happy?"

Levander didn't look at me.

"I'm very satisfied."

The way he said it sent chills up my arms.

"And finally," the reporter continued brightly, "if you could say one truth to your spouse right now,something you've never said,what would it be?"

Levander turned to me.

His eyes were so cold they made my heart stop.

He leaned in, close enough that only I could hear.

"I look forward," he whispered, "to the day you understand how much I hate you Lorraina."

Then he leaned back, smiling for the camera.

"And you, Mrs. Smith?"

I swallowed.

"I hope…he finds peace," I whispered.

The reporter beamed as though we'd just performed some fairytale ending.

"Thank you both," he said, delighted.

"This will be on tomorrow's front page,thank you so much for giving us the chance, happy married life,Mr and Mrs Smith."

He signaled the cameraman, and he retreated.

***

Lagatha left the party as early as she could. She was never the kind of woman who enjoyed loud music or the glare of chandeliers.

She'd only come tonight for one reason,to look the girl in the eye. The girl who'd stolen her son's heart without even trying.

She watched Lorraina from a distance, studying every flicker of her expression, every timid step, every shy glance. And deep down, Lagatha's contempt only grew.

That was the girl who'd made Thorfinn willing to throw everything away?

Pathetic.

She slipped out before the final toast, her driver opening the door in wordless deference.

"Home," she ordered curtly.

A storm was building inside her.

By the time she reached the mansion, the sky was bruised with night. The guards bowed as she swept past them into the entry hall, her heels clicking sharply on the marble.

Minutes later, another engine purred into the drive.

Thorfinn's car.

Her breath caught.

He stepped out, tall and proud and so heartbreakingly beautiful—her son. The one thing she'd ever loved more than her own ambition.

But the look on his face tonight…it was dangerous.

"Thorfinn?" she called, trying to sound calm. "Are you all right?"

He didn't answer immediately. His stare locked onto her with a kind of lethal stillness.

"Mother," he began slowly, his tone stripped of all affection. "Is there something you've been hiding from me?"

Lagatha swallowed.

"What are you talking about?" she replied lightly. "You know everything there is to—"

"Don't lie to me."

The air between them seemed to snap.

"The doctor told me I'd feel better in one or two years," he went on, his voice rising.

"That eventually the memories would come back. That my heart would…heal."

His hand went to his chest as though he could feel it stuttering there.

"But it's been four years, Mother. Four years of this emptiness."

"Son, please—"

"I'm not better," he thundered. "I feel like I'm trapped behind glass. Like I'm pretending to be someone I don't recognize. You think I don't see it? The pity in everyone's eyes? The way they look at me when I forget something, when I freeze up because it feels wrong?"

Lagatha opened her mouth, but no sound came.

"I can't sleep," he said, voice hoarse. "I can't focus. I hear a voice in my head—her voice. She calls my name. I hear her crying. I hear her laugh. But I can't see her face. I can't even remember what it felt like to hold her."

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why can't I remember? Who was she?"

Lagatha's composure cracked. A tremor ran up her spine.

"You are exhausted," she tried again. "You're imagining things. You've been—"

"Amnesia, right?" He gave a hollow laugh.

"That's what you've been telling me. For years. But if I have amnesia—"

He took a step closer, voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"....then why does it feel like you are the reason I forgot?"

She felt the blood drain from her face.

"Thorfinn—"

"I swear to you," he rasped. "If I ever learn you've hidden the truth—if you are the reason I lost her—I will never forgive you. And I will not spare you."

Her mouth fell open.

"You are taking this too far—"

"Then tell me everything," he roared, eyes glinting with something almost unhinged.

"Tell me who she was. Tell me why I can't remember the woman who haunts my dreams. Tell me why when I see her in flashes, it feels like the only time I was ever alive."

Lagatha's heart thumped wildly in her chest.

I have to end this now.

"She's dead."

The words fell out before she could stop herself.

Thorfinn's face drained of color.

"What?"

"She's dead," Lagatha repeated, forcing steel into her tone. "The girl you loved died in that accident. You were with her when it happened."

He stared at her like she'd stabbed him.

"Died…" His lips parted, his chest heaving. "No. No, you're lying."

"I am not lying," she said, her voice like iron. "You loved her, and she loved you. But she's gone, Thorfinn. She's never coming back. That's why you can't remember—because your mind refuses to relive the pain."

He took a step back, shaking his head slowly.

"No," he whispered.

"Accept it," she hissed, fighting the tremor in her own voice. "Let her go. Or she will destroy you all over again."

For a moment, she thought he might collapse. But instead, he turned his back to her.

Lagatha watched him walk up the stairs without another word. The silence he left behind was so heavy it hurt to breathe.