Semua Bab IF THE RING FITS: Bab 1 - Bab 10

The "miracle" Lilia had been praying for arrived in the form of a giant, inflatable hot dog. Lilia was currently sweating inside the polyester casing of "Frankie the Frankfurter," the mascot for a struggling local diner. She was working three jobs to save her grandmother’s restaurant , and today’s gig involved waving a plastic mustard bottle at cars in a rain-slicked parking lot. Sion Wagner, meanwhile, was having the worst morning of his professional life. His car had broken down, his assistant had quit via voice note, and he was currently power-walking toward a high-stakes board meeting, looking every bit the cold, billionaire shark in a three-thousand-dollar suit. He was also staring at his phone, furiously typing an email, which is why he didn't see the patch of black ice near the diner’s entrance. Lilia, hindered by the giant foam head of Frankie, saw him stumble. She lunged forward to help, but mascot shoes are essentially oversized loaves of bread. Instead of catching him,

The glass doors of Wagner Enterprises hissed shut, cutting off the roar of the press, but the silence inside was somehow louder. The lobby was a cathedral of white marble and judgmental stares. Every employee, from the high-heeled receptionists to the security guards, stood frozen, their eyes darting between Sion’s sharp suit and Lilia’s charcoal coat, which was currently dripping onto the pristine floor.Sion didn't slow down. He marched her toward the private elevator, his hand still firmly anchored to her waist."Marcus!" Sion barked as the elevator doors slid shut.The personal assistant, who had somehow sprinted from the car to the lobby ahead of them, squeezed into the elevator at the last second, clutching a tablet and a steaming cup of artisan coffee. He looked like he’d aged five years in the last hour."The PR team is already drafting the 'Whirlwind Romance' press release, sir," Marcus panted, adjusting his glasses. "The 'Diner Disaster'

"We're going to the diner," Sion said, already grabbing his charcoal blazer. "If we send a decoy, it looks like we’re hiding. If we show up, it looks like a romantic 'rescue' from the paparazzi.""In this dress?" Lilia gestured to the emerald silk. "I’ll look like a lost mermaid in a sea of coffee grounds.""Exactly," Sion countered, ushering her toward his private express elevator. "Contrast is the soul of a good headline."The drive to the diner felt like a mission to a war zone. As they turned the corner, the neon "FRANKIE’S" sign flickered under the weight of three satellite vans and a dozen reporters. Brenda, the veteran waitress who had worked there since Lilia was in diapers, was currently holding a carafe of hot coffee like a weapon, shouting at a cameraman to "get off the fresh-mopped linoleum."Sion’s town car glided to the curb. The moment the door opened, the flashbulbs became a strobe light."Lilia! Is it true he’s buying the

"I’m going home, Sion," Lilia said, her hand already on the door handle as the car slowed for a red light. "The emerald dress and the thirty-five-thousand-dollar rescue were enough 'excitement' for one day. I need to sleep in a room that doesn't smell like corporate power and expensive cologne."Sion watched her, his expression unreadable. "The press knows where you live, Lilia. You’ll be under siege by morning.""I have a deadbolt and a neighbor named Mrs. Gable who throws flowerpots at anyone who loiters," Lilia countered. "I’ll be fine."Sion sighed, a sound of genuine weary frustration. He signaled the driver to change course. "Fine. But Marcus will be outside your door by 7:00 AM. Don't make him use the master key."The town car pulled up to her cramped, third-floor walk-up in Astoria. The contrast was jarring; the sleek black vehicle looked like a spaceship landed in a junkyard. Sion walked her to the stoop, his charcoal coat draped over his

The Met was a fortress of glass and history, but tonight, it was a shark tank.Lilia stood at the top of the grand staircase, her hand trembling slightly where it rested on Sion’s arm. She was encased in a gown of midnight-blue velvet that weighed more than her first car, and her throat was adorned with "loaned" sapphires that felt like ice against her skin."Breathe, Lilia," Sion murmured, his head bowed close to hers as if he were whispering a sweet nothing. "You look like you're heading to a firing squad rather than a gala.""In this world, is there a difference?" she whispered back."Only in the caliber of the champagne," he replied, leading her into the Great Hall.The room was a sea of tuxedos and cut-throat ambition. Every conversation died a small death as they passed. The "Mustard Mogul" and his "Cinderella" had arrived. Sion worked the room with the precision of a surgeon, but he never let her stray more than an inch from his s