Chapter three.

Layla's POV.

Morning came again like last night didn't happen.

I hadn’t really slept. My eyes had been open for hours, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying everything from last night... his words, their laughter, the way he’d looked at me as if I was nothing.

I’d cried, yes, now all I felt was… stillness. A strange calm that came after too much chaos.

I sat by the small dining table by the window, sipping coffee that had long gone cold, staring at the skyline of New York through the glass.

I was flipping through the TV channels absentmindedly when I heard a knock at the door.

I frowned. Housekeeping had already come. Maybe room service? I hadn’t ordered anything.

“Who is it?” I called out, setting down my mug.

No answer.

The knocking came again, louder this time.

Something in my chest tightened, that instinct that comes when you already know the answer but still hope you’re wrong.

I rose from my chair slowly, my heart picking up speed. “Just a second,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm as I approached the door.

I opened it... and froze.

Donald stood there.

And beside him, clinging to his arm like a trophy, was her, the same young woman from last night. Her lips curved in a smirk, as her eyes traveled all over me maliciously.

"Donald,” I breathed, disbelief coloring my voice. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze slid past me, into the room... Then he walked in, uninvited, the girl following close behind.

I shut the door slowly behind them, still too stunned to move.

“Donald, I told you to send the papers over,” I said finally, finding my voice again. “I didn’t want to see you.”

He turned, a slight smirk on his face. “Yeah, I got your message.” He folded his arms, looking around the suite again. “But when I saw the address, I had to come see for myself.”

“See what?” I asked, crossing my arms, already feeling the irritation rise.

“That you were really here,” he said, emphasizing the word like it tasted bitter. “You could’ve just stood at the gate pretending to be a guest, you know, trying to prove you’ve moved on or something.”

A sharp laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “And what do you think now?”

He chuckled dryly, shrugging. “Guess you really managed to get in. So, tell me... who’s the new rich sugar daddy funding this? Because I know damn well you can’t afford this hotel.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “You came all the way here just to insult me?”

His mistress snickered softly beside him. "Maybe she spent the night at the club last night, I mean she must haunt for someone to take care of her since you can't do that for her anymore,"

Donald smirked. "Yeah, and I think her net quite caught the big fish, but he will get tired of her, just like I did, I mean who wouldn't?"

"I'm sure not everyone is you, Donald," I smiled. "And not that you deserve any explanation from me, but there isn't any big fish, I don't need a man to take care of me."

He stepped closer, that arrogant smirk never leaving his face. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you suddenly grew a backbone overnight. You’ve always needed someone to take care of you, Layla. That’s why you begged me to marry you, remember?”

“I didn’t beg,” I said through gritted teeth.

He chuckled. “Right, you just couldn’t live without me. Always cooking, always smiling, pretending to be the perfect wife. You were so desperate for my attention it was pathetic.”

I looked at him... at the smug expression, the shallow arrogance, the cold eyes. And for the first time, I didn’t feel pain. I felt… pity.

“You know what’s pathetic, Donald?” I said quietly. “That you think cruelty makes you powerful.”

His smirk faltered for just a second, but the girl beside him laughed. “Oh please,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. “You should be grateful he even married you. Look at you... you’re… what? Thirty? He’s way out of your league.”

I smiled faintly. "I'm going to let you have your moment so I won't argue with you, but know this, he will get used to you, then get tired, and you know what will happen next? He will drop you, just like he's done to me."

Her smile wavered. “Excuse me?”

"Don't let her get to you baby, she's just bitter that I fancy you, instead of her." Donald quickly wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her cheeks.

"Here." He pulled out a brown envelope and tossed it on the table carelessly, as though handing me trash.

I looked at it, then back at him. “Thank you,” I said softly, picking up the papers and flipped through them, the words blurring slightly through the tears that threatened to rise... not from sadness this time, but from relief.

“Do you have a pen?” I asked.

He snorted. “You’re really eager, huh?”

“Why drag it out?” I met his eyes squarely. “The sooner I sign, the sooner I never have to see you again.”

I signed each page carefully, my hand trembling only once. When I was done, I placed the pen down with finality and looked up at him.

“There,” I said. “It’s done.”

He took the papers back, a smug satisfaction flickering across his face. “Don’t come running back when your little fantasy falls apart,” he said. “Because trust me, whoever’s paying for this hotel... he’ll get tired of you, too. You’re nothing special, Layla. You never were.”

I tilted my head slightly, watching him spew those hurtful words without saying a single word to him.

“Let’s go, baby,” he muttered.

The girl shot me a triumphant look as they headed for the door. “Thanks for letting me have him all to myself, it's your loss.” she said mockingly, before following him out.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

I stood there, staring at the empty space where they’d just been, then I exhaled... a long, shaky breath that felt like letting go of something heavy I’d been carrying for years.

I wasn’t sure where I fit in yet, but this isn't the end for me.

I reached for my phone on the table, dialed my brother’s number, and pressed it to my ear.

He picked up almost immediately. “Layla?”

"I'm coming home."