Chapter 4 Layla

My heels clicked against the pavement in uneven rhythm, too fast for comfort, too slow for the panic in my chest.

I didn't even go home.

After leaving the club, I caught a bus headed straight for the care center. Every shadow on the road whispered Ethan's name. Every thought clawed at my sanity like a warning I didn't want to hear.

What had I just walked into?

The nurse at the desk gave me a tired smile when I arrived. "He's asleep, Miss Greene."

"I know," I murmured, signing in anyway.

I just needed to see him.

Dad looked the same. Fragile but peaceful. The monitor beside him beeped steady, rhythmic. Safe. For now.

I sat beside his bed, fingers brushing the edge of his blanket. "You'd hate this, wouldn't you?" I whispered. "Me dancing under stage lights while wolves stare like I'm their next meal." I swallowed the knot forming in my throat. "But what choice did I have, Daddy?"

His chest rose and fell, oblivious to the storm crashing inside me.

I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough for the fluorescent lights to start humming in my ears, long e

nough for my anger to cool into a hollow ache.

Eventually, I stood, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "I'm trying."

Outside, the air was cold enough to steal breath. I pulled my coat tighter and started walking, trying to clear my head.

That was when I heard it.

The slow hum of a luxury engine. Deep. Predatory. I didn't even need to look.

I turned, teeth clenched-and there it was.

A matte black Rolls-Royce rolled to a slow stop beside me.

The window lowered.

And there he was.

Ethan Reed.

Looking exactly like temptation dressed in Armani and apathy.

"Get in," he said, voice flat.

I scoffed. "Is this part of the charm? Stalking me down after offering a business proposal that feels more like blackmail?"

His eyes narrowed. "We're not having this conversation on a sidewalk."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Layla." My name sounded like a warning on his tongue. "You came to work tonight distracted. You went straight to your father. You're spiraling. This is the part where you break, and I'm here to make sure you don't do it stupidly."

"Wow," I breathed. "So you've been watching me?"

"I've been protecting my investment."

That made my chest tighten.

I stared at him, at the man who thought emotions were liabilities and people were pieces on his board.

But I got in anyway.

Because I was too tired to fight, too scared to fall, and too damn cornered to pretend I had better options.

The ride to his place was silent. Cold withering silence.

The car packed by a building that looked like it was torn out of a New York building sales magazine. Big, flashy and big.

He got out and didn't even acknowledge me, so I stepped out anyway. Outside the building he gestured with his eyes for me to walk. And I here I was thinking chivalry was dead. I scoffed out loudly. Still no acknowledgement. Bastard

Reaching the massive gold painted elevator, he taps on the last floor button. Then got in. At this point I'm just following him.

The ride was silent. Again.

Except this time, the silence wasn't just cold-it was tense, like the quiet before a bomb goes off.

I didn't speak until we stepped out of the elevator into his apartment-if you could even call it that.

Everything was black, white, and marble. Cold sophistication. Power etched into every line of the walls. There were no photos. No plants. No signs of life.

Just like him.

He walked to the bar, poured himself a drink, and offered none to me. Typical.

Muscle etched to perfection, his back flexed with every reach of a bottle, ice or glass. This man was goddanm large. And for some reason I didn't feel threatened. Fased, yes. But not threatened

"You want an answer," I said, arms folded.

He didn't turn. "I want clarity."

I stepped closer. "You say this is just a business deal. But you show up at my work, pull up outside a care center, and drag me to your penthouse like I'm not allowed to think. It doesn't feel like business-it feels like a threat dressed up in silk."

Now he turned, glass in hand. "That's because threats work, Layla. People don't move unless they're pushed."

Oh god my name on his lips. Now that's sinful.

He walked past me and dropped a leather-bound binder onto the coffee table.

The contract.

Again.

"Six months," he said. "You live here. Public appearances. No real intimacy, unless mutually agreed. Which I doubt will happen on my side" he says with a sip of his clearly expensive whiskey. cocky bastard.

He carrys on "You follow my lead, and in return, I wipe every cent of your debt and cover your father's treatment."

I stared at the binder like it might explode, with the wrong move.

"What happens if I break the terms?" I asked.

His voice lowered. "Then you lose everything. I won't protect you from the collectors. And trust me-they're not as courteous as I am."

Courteous my ass.

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

My mind screamed no, but my body stayed frozen.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "No one's coming to save you, Layla. Not a miracle. Not a kind stranger. You're out here alone, and you've been playing survival on hard mode for too long. I'm the only way forward."

Manipulative bastard, that just made me hate him a level more. If that's even physically possible.

I hated him for being right.

I hated myself for craving the safety he promised, even with the strings attached.

But more than anything, I hated how steady his voice sounded-like he already knew I'd