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I'll be your shield
Last Updated:
2025-11-04 21:34:11
Latest chapter
After One Night Stand I Became His Wife I'll be your shield
In the days following the scandal, the frenzy of rumors and invasive headlines that had threatened to upend Layla's carefully constructed facade began to ebb away with surprising swiftness. Colden's legal team had orchestrated a masterful response: a concise, ironclad statement that neither confirmed nor denied the allegations but emphasized the sanctity of personal privacy and hinted at swift legal repercussions for any continued defamation. The tabloids, ever opportunistic, sensed the looming threat of lawsuits and backed off almost immediately. Within seventy-two hours, the story had been overshadowed by newer, juicier scandals involving celebrities and politicians, leaving Layla's name untarnished in the public eye. She could finally step outside without feeling the phantom weight of judgmental stares, though the experience had left an indelible mark on her psyche.During those quiet, introspective afternoons in the opulent house, Layla found herself wandering the expansive room
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By morning, chaos had taken form. The sleek headlines flashed across every major outlet, painting his name with scandal and desire. Reporters flooded outside the company gates, voices clamoring, cameras flashing, drones buzzing over the rooftop. Colden’s empire, known for its ruthless control, was now the center of gossip.In the mansion, silence stood thick as marble.Layla sat at the breakfast table, untouched toast on her plate, the tablet screen glowing faintly. Her name and photo were side by side with his—“CEO Colden Frost caught with another woman just days after marriage.”Her pulse echoed in her ears. Betrayal wasn’t new. But humiliation—this public humiliation—burned differently. The world wasn’t mocking him. It was mocking her. The unwanted wife. The poor girl who married into gold and got discarded within a week.Her hand trembled as she scrolled through the article. Every picture felt like a knife. Colden, sitting cold and distant, the woman on his lap, leaning close. His
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The drive back to the mansion was silent, almost painfully so. The streets were empty, the city’s late-night hum reduced to a faint murmur behind the thick windows of his black sedan. Rain had begun to fall lightly, leaving the asphalt glistening under streetlights, and Colden’s expression remained unchanged as he navigated the slick roads.Inside him, however, a storm raged quietly. Each thought was sharp, precise, circling back to Layla. He hadn’t expected the impact. She wasn’t just any girl he could dismiss; she had a fire, an independence, a refusal to be treated like a tool without consequence.The mansion loomed ahead, lights dimmed, quiet as if awaiting his return. Colden’s hand gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he parked, his mind already scanning for any potential distractions or threats. The grand doors opened with a whisper. He moved silently through the hallways, aware of each shadow, each shift of light. And then he saw her.Layla was asleep on the couch in
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The bar was alive with noise and smoke, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air in a chaotic symphony. Neon lights cut across the room in harsh streaks, highlighting the faces of those lost in their own temporary indulgences. The scent of alcohol mixed with perfume and the faint metallic tang of spilled drinks. To most, it was a place of fleeting pleasure, an escape from responsibility. To Colden, it was nothing more than a temporary distraction, a place to observe the frivolity of others without becoming part of it.He entered quietly, his coat draped over his shoulders, shoes clicking sharply against the polished floor. Heads turned, whispers circulated — the Frost heir. Even in a place built on excess and spectacle, his presence commanded a hush. The air seemed to bend subtly around him, as if acknowledging his dominance without question. He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t need to. He had never sought admiration; he had always commanded it.He chose a corner booth, distant from
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The study room was silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on the chest and left the air feeling thick and heavy. Layla sat across from him, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her knees pressed together as though they could hold her upright against the tension. The room smelled faintly of leather and polished wood, of books left closed for months, of order and control. Every corner seemed to reflect Colden’s presence — meticulous, precise, and intimidating. Lamps cast a muted glow that highlighted the sharp angles of his face, the steel in his eyes, the way he carried himself like a predator sizing up prey.“Layla,” he began, his voice low, measured, almost casual, but with a weight that made the words hit harder than a slap. “We need to discuss the next step of our marriage.”Her stomach lurched. She had anticipated discussions about the household, about etiquette, about appearances — but this? The cold matter-of-factness with which he stated it made her jump in her chair.“
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The iron gates slammed shut behind them with a final, echoing clang. Outside, the last remnants of chaos faded — the voices, the flash of cameras, the clamor of reporters. It all dissolved into silence. She turned toward Colden. His suit was immaculate, not a single hair out of place, as though the scene outside hadn’t just exploded into scandal and humiliation. He stood in that same calm posture — one hand in his pocket, the other at his side, his gaze somewhere far away.For a moment, she didn’t recognize him. The man who had silenced her parents with a few words — who had ended the spectacle with chilling authority — looked more like a storm disguised in human form.“You didn’t have to do that,” she said finally, her voice small, fragile. “I would have handled them myself.”Colden’s eyes shifted to her, unreadable as always. “They were an eyesore.”Layla blinked, not expecting the bluntness. The way he said it — flat, dismissive, like her family’s cruelty was nothing more than dir
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