Daddy's little princess

Layla's Pov

"Is this a joke?" I asked, my voice steady, even though my knuckles turned white as I clutched the paper tighter. The envelope trembled in my hands.

"I served this company tenaciously for more than four years, and this is what I get?"

I sat across from Jordan, my manager. A lanky man with greying temples and a fake-ass smile, seated comfortably in his office like he had no part in this.

"It's nothing personal, Layla. You know that. It's restructuring," he said with a sigh, getting up and walking to his cabinet to pour himself a drink.

Bullshit.

"Are you seriously going with that line?" I shot back, rising from my seat. "Because you and I both know that doesn't make any damn sense. The company wouldn't lay me off without a genuine reason."

"You'd be surprised how far a little... loyalty can go. To the right person," he said, swirling the drink in his glass like we were discussing the weather, not my job.

I narrowed my eyes. "I earned every promotion I got here. Through hard work. Not by crawling into people's beds."

"Don't be so dramatic," he muttered, sipping his drink. "Relax. I'm just saying... life's a lot easier when you stop pretending to be so righteous."

The disgust I felt bloomed in my chest and made it hard to breathe.

Noir Edge had a reputation for its condescending way of firing people. Word was the owner was mentally unstable, doing whatever he pleased whenever he pleased. But this? This wasn't just another cold corporate dismissal.

This was personal.

"Didn't I tell you that you'd regret choosing your boyfriend over me?" Jordan raised his glass again, that slimy glint in his eye igniting a fresh wave of anger inside me. "I bet you thought I was joking."

I clenched my jaw. . "He's not just my boyfriend. He's my fiancé. And unlike you, I don't cheat. I don't slither around behind people's backs hoping for pity sex like some washed-up creep."

"You better watch your mouth, bitch," he snapped, slamming the glass down harder than necessary. "Or I'll put it in place for you. You're not a saint, nor a virgin, so what's the big deal about what I asked for?"

I laughed. Not because it was funny but because it was so damn pathetic. "Everything is wrong with it, you sad excuse of a man. You really think I'd throw away my dignity for a promotion? You think I'd sleep with someone who clearly hasn't seen a gym in years, and whose wife probably prays you stay late at work just to catch a break from him?"

My hand was shaking as I jabbed a finger toward him. Rage pulsed through every inch of me. "You make me sick."

His expression darkened instantly. "I'm done bantering words with you. Now, get out of my office," he barked. "Before I ask security to throw you out."

He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, wincing as it burned his throat, but never breaking eye contact with me.

I blinked, holding back the tears stinging my eyes. I shoved the letter into my bag, turned toward the door, and gripped the handle tightly.

"I'll make sure you regret this day," I said, voice low but sharp. I looked back and locked eyes with him. "Mark my words."

He smirked, looking smug as hell. Like he'd just won something.

Of course he was glad. He'd been dying to get rid of me. I was a threat. He hated that I was outperforming him. The higher-ups noticed. And that scared the hell out of him.

That was definitely why he made me that disgusting offer in the first place. He knew I'd never accept it.

I stormed out of his office, ignoring the curious glances and low whispers from my colleagues. I walked straight into the elevator without glancing back. I didn't even bother to pack my desk. None of my essentials were there anyways.

My mind flickered back to the stupid man. He didn't even wait for me to get my paycheck before cutting me loose.

I had plans for that money. I wanted to stock the fridge, Pay half the rent. Maybe even surprise Ryan with takeout to celebrate our engagement.

I was one of the best PR managers they'd ever had. I had just completed a major project-the kind that brought international coverage. A project assigned by that same sorry excuse of a manager. And this... this was the thanks I got?

I walked.

And kept walking.

Past people scrolling through their phones. Past a couple giggling over coffee. Past a street musician singing a love song with too much honesty in his voice.

I couldn't bring myself to book a ride or even take the bus.

What the hell had just happened?

How did everything fall apart in less than thirty minutes?

But as shaken as I was, I didn't know my day was about to get worse. Much worse.

By the time I reached Ryan's apartment, my feet ached and my mind was numb. I just needed comfort. I needed someone to tell me I wasn't insane for standing my ground. I needed someone to press their lips to my temple and whisper, "Screw them, Layla. You're worth more than all of them combined."

Someone like Ryan.

He was the best decision I'd made since losing my parents. My constant in a chaotic life. The only person I could count on. My biggest cheerleader. My safe space.

I didn't knock. I never had to. Ryan gave me my own key months ago, told me his place was mine too. The door was unlocked, as usual. I slipped in quietly, planning to surprise him. Maybe cry in his arms.

The lights were dim. Soft music hummed from the speaker. But something was off-the scent in the air wasn't Ryan's usual cologne. It was stronger. Muskier. A second wine glass sat on the table next to his half-finished one.

Okay. Maybe he had a friend over. Dean? Or Alex? That made sense.

My heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as I walked further in.

"Ryan?" I called gently. "I'm home."

No response.

I turned the corner into the living room-

And froze. My heart slammed in my chest.

No. No, this wasn't happening. My brain tried to catch up with what I was seeing, but my eyes had already confirmed it.

This wasn't what it looked like... right?

Right?

My bag slipped off my shoulder and hit the floor with a thud. The sound didn't even make a dent in the sight in front of me. Maybe I was invisible. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Ryan was fucking a woman.

Layla's pov

I couldn't see her face, as her back was turned, and he was ramming into her from behind like a damn animal. She moaned loudly with every thrust, bent over the living room couch.

Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, and Ryan had one hand holding her panties aside to give himself easier access.

"Fuck, Ryan! Hit the spot harder," the woman screamed like it was the highlight of her week, using her hand to rub her clit as he pounded into her.

"Chill, baby. We're getting there gradually," Ryan groaned, his voice raw with pleasure.

Could today get any worse?

I took a step back, and my foot hit the edge of the coffee table. The small ceramic flower pot I'd bought to brighten up his cold-ass apartment tumbled to the floor and shattered with a sharp crack.

They jumped apart at the sound, scrambling to cover themselves. The woman turned first, and in less than a second, her expression shifted from shock to guilt.

My mouth went dry. My nails bit into my palms, the only thing keeping me grounded.

Brielle.

Ryan's so-called childhood friend. The same Brielle I'd cried to last week when Ryan started acting weird. The one who told me to stop overthinking things, that it was just work stress. That everything was fine.

I stared at them, too stunned to feel anything yet. My brain was trying to process what I'd just walked in on, but the pieces didn't fit. I blinked hard, hoping it was a nightmare. That I'd wake up.

But I didn't.

Who would've thought the perfect Brielle was the one screwing my fiancé?

The irony stung like acid. If I wasn't so broken, I might've laughed. I'd wasted three damn years of my life on a man who couldn't keep his cock in his pants.

"Lay... Layla," Ryan stammered, clearly scrambling to sound composed. "I didn't expect you home this early."

I shook my head slowly. I didn't even know what part to focus on. What I just witnessed, or the dumbass excuse that just came out of his mouth.

Did he seriously feel no shame?

"Your actions speak for themselves," I said flatly. "Coming home to this? So thoughtful of you."

"Layla, it's not what it looks like-"

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my lips. "Oh, good. Then by all means, tell me what it is."

I looked around.the room. The wine glasses, the soft music, the candles still flickering, Brielle's bag on the chair, Ryan's shirt half untucked like he'd been lounging there for hours.

How long had this been going on? Weeks? Months? Longer?

Did he ever love me?

"I got fired today," I said quietly, my eyes pinned to his. "I walked out of that office with nothing. No paycheck. No goodbye. Just because I refused to sleep with my boss."

Ryan swallowed. "I didn't know-"

"Of course, you didn't," I snapped. "You didn't ask. You didn't call. You were too busy screwing your 'childhood friend.'" I made air quotes with my fingers, not that either of them deserved a performance.

The room went silent. Brielle opened her mouth like she had something to say, but the glare I sent her way shut her up fast.

"I needed someone today," I said, my voice cracking. "I told myself I did the right thing. That my fiancé would be proud of me. But this-" I gestured to them. "And I come home to this."

"You didn't even try to hide it," I whispered. "That's the worst part."

"It wasn't planned," Ryan muttered, stepping toward me.

"Don't." I said sharply. "Don't insult me by pretending this was a mistake."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "You're overreacting. This isn't as big as you think."

My eyes widened.

"I'm overreacting?" My voice rose. "Ryan, I just walked in on you fucking Brielle and I'm the one who's overreacting?"

"I-this was a mistake. A one-time thing-"

"A mistake?" I repeated. "You call this a one-time thing?" I waved at the wine, the lights, the damn playlist. "You went through all this for one quick fuck?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he muttered, guilt finally creeping into his expression.

I squared my shoulders. "You didn't mean to stop yourself either. And to think, I lost my job today because I refused to cheat on you."

My eyes stung, but I refused to let tears fall, especially not in front of them. They didn't deserve that kind of vulnerability from me.

"Layla..."

I held up my hand to silence him and turned to Brielle.

She stared straight at me, no trace of regret. A faint smirk played on her lips. Like this had been some game, and she'd won.

"You must feel proud of yourself," I said coldly. "You finally get him all to yourself."

Brielle tilted her head and shrugged lazily. "Hmm. Not really."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I didn't actually want him," she said, like it was nothing. "Not the way you did."

I scoffed. "Then what was the point of all this? Why go through all this?"

"You took him too seriously," she replied, her voice bored now. "Always acting like he was yours. Someone had to remind you he wasn't."

She said it like I was the problem.

"I just didn't expect you to come home today," she added, slightly annoyed.

I clenched my jaw. "You're disgusting."

"And you're naive," she said simply. "You thought loyalty meant something to people like him. Or me."

It hit me all at once. Those late-night calls they shared, Ryan's distance, Brielle's comforting lies about him being stressed from work. It had all been part of it.

And now, she was throwing it in my face.

"If it makes you feel better," she added with venom, "you're not even worth him."

I just nodded. That was all I needed to hear. I turned away and bent to grab my bag from the floor, slinging it over my shoulder with the calmness I didn't even know I had left.

"I'll come back for the rest of my things when I'm not seeing red," I said, voice low but final.

Ryan stepped forward. "Layla, please. Don't leave like this. Let's talk-"

"No." I stepped back. "I don't want to talk. I don't want to stand here, breathing the same air with you."

"I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen-"

"Save it." I cut him off. "I don't need your pathetic apology. I'm done."

"Layla," Brielle called after me, her voice losing its smugness. "You're seriously walking away because of him?"

I turned at the door, eyebrows raised. "Are you high? I'm walking away because of both of you. You lied to me. Smiled in my face. And ruined what little faith I had left in people."

"God, you're dramatic."

I stepped back inside for just one second, my eyes sharp and steady now. "No, sweetheart. I'm clear. Crystal clear. You and Ryan? You deserve each other."

It was funny, in a fucked-up way-how life just rips the ground right out from under you. One moment, I was engaged and planning a future. The next? I was unemployed and humiliated, betrayed by the two people I trusted the most.

Hot tears slipped down my cheeks as I dragged my feet along the sidewalk. I had no one to call right now. My best friend was out of town for a work seminar and I didn't want to bother her. My sister was out of the country. And my useless fiancé-well, he was upstairs screwing his "childhood friend."

Bastards.

Ryan cost me the only job I had, and now he got to walk away like none of it mattered. Like I was nothing.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I wasn't going to go home and cry into my pillow like some pathetic woman from a sad rom-com. I needed a distraction.

If I couldn't fix anything, I could at least forget everything for one night.

I didn't want comfort. I wanted chaos. Noise. A strip club was the only place I figured I could get it.

Asher's POV

"Mr. Sterling, you've got that investor meeting in twenty minutes," Paul, my assistant, reminded me as I glanced through the figures on my desk.

"I know," I said, not looking up. "Has Bennett confirmed if he's bringing his legal team?"

"Yes, sir. They informed us yesterday that they were coming along with him today. And they want equity adjusted to forty percent."

I dropped the pen. "How can he demand forty percent for ten percent of the work? They're out of their minds. That's not happening."

"They're still coming," he said.

"Then let them hear it from me."

I got up, buttoned my jacket, and walked toward the conference room. My phone buzzed in my pocket but I ignored it. My sister wouldn't stop hounding me about the family dinner my family was hosting and I had promised I would come.

The dinner was in about two weeks so why was she disturbing me. But I knew better than anyone that if she didn't do these I would not attend. I never did especially after Melina's death. I wasn't a big fan of gatherings but Melina had always been one to drag me along. She always enjoyed socializing.

I walked into the glass-walled room where my team was already seated, and across from them, Peter Bennett, the investor, had that smug grin he always wore. The same one that made me want to walk out each time we meet.

"Asher," he said, rising for a handshake I didn't want to give. "Glad you could make time."

"I always make time for bad deals," I replied and took my seat.

He chuckled. "No need to be hostile. This is business."

"Then don't ask for something that sounds like a robbery."

My legal advisor gave me a warning look, but I ignored him. I wasn't in the mood to sugarcoat anything. I had already given them a fair offer. Bennett just wanted more control, and I wasn't about to hand it over.

The meeting dragged longer than it should have. Peter Bennett kept talking in circles, arguing over the percentage of shares he wanted to own in the proposed merger which frustrated me. I wanted to shut him but kept quiet because he was the best choice among the investors I have seen around.

By the time we wrapped, my jaw was tight. I walked out of the boardroom, ignoring Paul who tried to brief me on my next call. I waved him off. My head was not in it anymore.

I didn't speak to anyone. I just walked toward the elevator, loosening my tie. When I got into the car, Jacob, my driver nodded at me in the rearview mirror.

"Home, sir?" he asked.

"No. Just drive," I muttered, sliding into the backseat. "I'll let you know."

The door shut behind me and I sank into the seat, tugging at the top button of my shirt. I stared out of the tinted window as the city blurred past.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the date. It had been two years already since Melina died. Her name still sat at the top of my emergency contact list. I thought I would've felt something by now but all I can do is still the void she left.

I hadn't touched another woman since then. I had tried to move on once last year. It was a blind date, Bruce, a business associate insisted on. I left halfway through the dinner. Paid the bill and walked out. I can't even remember the woman's name.

A lot of women had flirted with me. I had to get the security to throw one out the other day. I don't know how but she sneaked into my office when I wasn't there. Her clit shone directly at me the moment I opened the door. She laid on the sofa in my office almost naked.

I genuinely wonder what motivated these women to throw themselves at men shamelessly. Oh, I forgot. Shame is now a luxury.

None of the ladies I have met felt like Melina. She was everything I never asked for but needed. She made me better. She was there before I made my first million, before the company went global, before the title of billionaire became something I was addressed with.

When she got sick, I didn't believe it at first. I kept thinking we'd buy more time. I flew in several doctors to get her help. She still died. Just like that.

I never recovered. Not really.

Everyone at the company stopped mentioning her after the first year. Even my closest staff avoided saying her name. Maybe they thought I'd fall apart. Or maybe they figured I already had.

I looked at my reflection in the glass and didn't recognize the man looking back.

Jacob cleared his throat. "Sir?"

"Yeah."

"You've been quiet."

"Not in the mood for small talk," I said, my voice low. "Keep driving."

"Yes, sir

We passed a string of restaurants, then the downtown strip. Bright signs flashed against the car window. Music leaked into the streets from the doors of clubs. People who had nowhere to be tomorrow.

I should've told Jacob to take me home but I didn't want to go back to the silent space that reminded so much about her with a pounding head.

Instead, I found myself saying, "Pull over."

He parked without a word.

I stepped out before I could change my mind. The air outside was cooler than expected. I slipped my hands into my pockets and walked toward the place where I could drown my pain.

A strip club.

I hadn't been in one in over a decade. Not since before Melina. That life had ended with her.

Inside the club, the lights were low and the music loud. Neon flickered across half-naked dancers, dollar bills, and tired men pretending they weren't alone.

I found the bar and ordered a whiskey. No ice. Just the burn.

I took a seat by the bar top. Needing quiet inside my own head even if the place around me was loud. Suddenly, the barstool beside me scraped across the floor. I turned slightly to see who drew it out.

My breath hitched in my throat. I was staring wide eyed at the lady who looked like a mini version of Melina. She wore a dress that left very little to imagination. Her blonde hair was flowy cascading down her, almost tempting me to feel the strands. My first glance at her made my cock throb in my pants.

Something I hadn't felt voluntarily since Melina died.

She looked very innocent to be in a place like this. There was mascara smudged under red, swollen eyes. Probably from crying. Her vibe screamed recklessness.

"Again," she drawled, slamming her empty martini glass on the bar top.

"Did you come with someone?" he asked, eyes shamelessly dropping to her exposed tits.

Her behavior was funny to me but I could relate to her pain at the same time. She deserves to lighten up her mind.

She scoffed at the bartender. "Do I look like I need a chaperone?"

Before he could say another word, she turned to me, grabbed my half-finished whiskey without asking, and knocked it back.

Feisty? I loved her already.