Chapter 9%
The days blurred into a numbing cycle of work and white lies.!!
I threw myself into meetings, conference calls, numbers, mergers–anything to bury the dull ache that sat behind my ribs like a wound I couldn’t dress. I told myself it was just the pressure, the business, the expectations of a Westwood man. But deep down, I knew I was running from something else. Someone else.
Layla
The silence she left behind wasn’t just absence–it was noise in my head. Static. Constant. Every hour I didn’t hear from her felt like a judgment. Like I was being punished for something I never had the courage to admit.“]
So I clung to distraction.
And distraction looked a lot like Celeste.N
I took her out. Lavished her with things–clothes, perfume, jewelry. Laughed with her over expensive wine. Bought her a pale blue dress she twirled in like she was still seventeen and starry–eyed. Her smile was pretty. Her fingers laced perfectly with mine. She pressed her lips to my cheek when no one was watching.
We looked like a couple in love.
And yet.
Each time she leaned into me, each time she looked up with hopeful eyes, I saw someone else.“]
Layla, in that quiet way of hers, smiling without needing to say anything. Layla, with her soft hands pressing herbal oil into my father’s palms. Layla, who used to wait up for me no matter how late I came home.
I didn’t understand it.
I had everything I wanted now, didn’t I?
Still… it felt like nothing.
Two days before Father’s birthday, I picked up my phone again and stared at her number–the one she never answered. So I tried another. A burner line. Something she wouldn’t recognize.
I dialed.
No answer.
I texted: Father’s birthday is this weekend. He’s expecting you. Please come.”
Nothing.&
No “okay,” no dots typing.
Just a void.
That night, I took Celeste shopping again. She clung to my arm as we walked down the boutique–lined street, laughing over which shoes matched her dress. I let her pick anything. Everything. The more bags I carried, the more I tried to convince myself I was doing the right thing.
We stepped out into the cool evening air, and one of my old college friends, Levi, spotted us.
“Hey, Brent!” he called, walking over with a grin. His eyes flicked to Celeste. “Whoa, is that your new girl?“]
Celeste tightened her grip on me playfully.
Levi chuckled. “Damn. Where’s Layla? You two split?“>
I shook my head without missing a beat. “No, of course not. Celeste isn’t my lover. She’s my sister. Layla’s abroad. I’ll be picking her up soon.”
Levi raised a brow, surprised. “Still married, huh?”
“She’s still my wife,” I said firmly. “Forever.““]
I meant it. I didn’t even realize I meant it–until I said it.”
Celeste had gone quiet beside me.
When we got home, she slammed the bedroom door behind us, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
“What the hell was that?” she snapped, tossing her purse on the bed.
I blinked. “What?”
“You told him I’m your sister? That you’re still married to Layla? That she’s your forever?“!!
“Celeste, calm down-”
“No!” she cried, eyes welling up. “I’m done hiding! I’m done sneaking around! I want to marry you, Brent! Tell them. Tell Father. Tell the whole damn world!“}
I ran a hand through my hair. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” Her voice cracked. “You said you love me.“!!
“I do,” I lied. “But if we tell them, our families will turn on us. You know that. Father will cut you off. Your mother–she’ll never accept it. We’ll lose everything.”
“So what?” she yelled, tears streaking her cheeks. “We’re going to hide forever? Lie forever? Is that what you want?““}]
“Yes,” I said without flinching.”
She stepped back like I’d slapped her.
I didn’t follow her this time. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t try to fix it like I always did.
Because suddenly, I felt… nothing.
Nothing toward the woman who claimed to love me. Nothing toward the drama or the tantrum. Her tears didn’t move me.”
Because it wasn’t Celeste I was thinking about anymore.”
It was Layla.
The woman who once called my father every Sunday morning. Who packed him warm ginger tea. Who’d been missing from my life for gnly a few weeks–but left behind a silence louder than Celeste could ever fill.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled out my phone again, opened our last conversation–weeks old now–and stared at it.
Then a message popped up: Sir. Mrs. Layla Westwood has just been located. She’s in Switzerland.”
