Chapter 7
Snow dusted the peaks like powdered sugar, and the air felt so clean it hurt my lungs in the best way. I stood on a narrow cobblestone bridge, laughing as I tried to balance a paper cone of roasted chestnuts in one hand and my phone camera in the other.”
For the first time in what felt like years, my smile wasn’t forced.”
No one was watching. No one was demanding. No one was hurting me.”
Here, I wasn’t Mrs. Layla Westwood. I was just… Layla.”
My brother Lucas had rented a charming little chalet for us on the mountainside. We’d spent our mornings exploring local cafes and our afternoons soaking in hot springs or sipping wine by a fireplace that crackled like music. Tourists and locals alike chatted easily, no one caring who I used to be.“]
There were no midnight screams. No cold glares. No Celeste.}
I had never felt so free. But somewhere else in the world–back in the glass and steel mansion I used to call home–my ghost still haunted Brent.
Or maybe not. Maybe he was too busy to notice.}]
Because while I was rediscovering peace, he was basking in a different kind of dream–one soaked in perfume, silk robes, and flirty laughter.
“Brent, look at this view!” Celeste beamed, snapping photos of herself on a yacht decked out in champagne and crystal platters. “You really do spoil me.”
Brent smiled faintly, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You deserve the world, Celeste.“}
“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” she cooed, looping her arms around his neck. “Does that mean I’m your world now?”
He chuckled. “Maybe. You’re the one here with me, aren’t you?“}}
She giggled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Only because you finally stopped pretending to be a married man.“>
He didn’t reply to that. Just sipped his drink and watched the sea, quiet.
The trip went on like that–shopping sprees in Milan, candlelit dinners in Paris, Celeste practically glued to his side, giggling about room service and bath bombs. And Brent… well, Brent played the part. The perfect man, doting and romantic.}]
But something changed when they came home.
He stepped into the house like a man sleepwalking. Everything was familiar, yet something felt off. Celeste trailed after him with their bags in hand, still chatting about what spa to visit next.
“I have something for you,” Brent murmured, already walking toward the bedroom.
Celeste tilted her head. “Hmm? For me?“>
“No… for Layla.”
She stopped in her tracks. “Layla?“>
He opened the bedroom door.”
And for a long moment, he just stood there.
Empty.❞
Her closet–empty. The vanity–bare. The air didn’t smell like her anymore. No lavender lotion. No faint trail of her perfume.
She was gone.
Only then did the weight hit him in full.”
There was no Layla.
Not anymore.
“Layla…” he whispered, as if saying her name would make her appear.”
Behind him, he barely noticed Celeste entering the room in a bathrobe. She ran a hand along his shoulder.
“Brent…” Her voice was honeyed. “Shall we take a bath together?”
He stepped back instinctively, shaking her off. “I’m not in the mood.”
She blinked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
But he was already walking away–into the dim silence of his study, where Layla used to sit quietly, curled up with books he never bothered asking about. He picked up his phone and dialed.}}
Voicemail.
He tried again.”
And again.
Still nothing.
Frustrated, he slammed the phone down and called his head of security. “Find her. Whatever it takes. I want to know where she is. Now.”
From the doorway, Celeste stood in silence–until the words sank in.)]
on My Husband who Oakul
1/2 27.1
“Why are you trying to find her?” she asked, arms crossed, a hint of a tremble in her voice. “She left. She doesn’t want you anymore.”
He didn’t answer right away.N
She walked closer. “Brent. I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”
He looked at her, eyes unreadable.
Once upon a time, she would’ve been more than enough. She was the dream he chased through years of denial and guilt.
But now…?!
“You are enough,” he said after a pause. “But we need Layla.”
Celeste recoiled. “What?“N
He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You know how it works. We need her to keep the public distracted. If people find out about us… if our parents know…”
Celeste’s face twisted. “So…. you want her back not because you love her–but because she’s a shield.”
“She chose to leave,” he said defensively.N
“And you let her,” she snapped.
He didn’t argue that. Couldn’t.
“She’s gone, Brent,” Celeste continued, voice cracking slightly. “She’s not coming back. You know that, right? She never wanted you anymore.”
That last sentence stuck like a thorn.N
Brent sat down slowly, and for once, he didn’t deny it. The silence stretched too long, too loud.
He stared at his phone again.
Still no messages.
Still no Layla.
And somewhere, under all the excuses and selfish reasons… something in him broke a little more.
