Chapter two.

Layla's POV.

I woke up with a smile on my face; even when there is little or nothing to be happy about, but I can't be sad on my wedding anniversary either.

It's a new chance to remind him why he’d once chosen me.

I spent the morning cleaning the house, I wanted everything perfect, even if he wouldn’t notice.

In the kitchen, I spent hours cooking, I made all his favorites: roast chicken with thyme and lemon, creamy mashed potatoes, red wine sauce, and the chocolate mousse I’d learned to make because he’d once said it reminded him of someone special, whoever it is.

When I finally set the table, I took a step back to admire it; everything was perfect, and I didn't forget the wrapped gift box I'd gotten for him, inside the box was the watch he’d been eyeing for weeks, and there's a note.

"To the man who still owns my heart.. may this year remind us why we fell in love.”

I smoothed the paper with my fingertips, then went upstairs to get ready.

I took my time dressing; a satin dress that hugged my curves, I curled my hair loosely around my shoulders and applied makeup lightly, just enough to hide the exhaustion around my eyes. For a long moment, I stared at my reflection, forcing myself to believe that maybe tonight would be different.

By the time everything was ready, the clock on the wall read 6:30 p.m.

He usually came home by seven.

I lit the candles, dimmed the lights, and turned on soft music... Then sat at the table, clasping my hands together, smiling to myself. My heart was racing.. a little nervous, a little excited.

Seven slowly passed.

Then eight.

I checked my phone. No calls. No messages.

Nine came and went.

The food on the table had gone cold, the candles melted halfway down. My hands, once restless with excitement, now lay still in my lap. My eyes kept darting toward the door at every sound.

By ten, I’d leaned my head on the table. I told myself I’d just rest my eyes for a bit... he’d come soon, and I wanted to look refreshed. The music had long stopped, and the candles now puddles of wax.

I must have drifted off to sleep after a little while of resting my head on the table.

The loud growl of an engine jolted me awake.

For a moment, I was disoriented, the room was dark now, and my head ached slightly from where it had rested on the wood. Then I heard it: the familiar sound of his car pulling into the driveway.

I blinked rapidly, straightening up. My heart started to pound again. I quickly checked my reflection on the glossy surface of a wine glass, adjusted my hair, smoothed my dress.

“He’s home,” I whispered to myself, smiling weakly. “He’s home.”

The front door opened. I stood, ready to greet him, the words “Happy anniversary” already forming on my lips.

But he wasn’t alone.

A young woman followed him inside, her hand wrapped possessively around his arm. I froze. For a second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing.

“Layla?” His voice broke through the silence. “Why are you still up?”

I blinked at him, my throat dry. “It’s… our anniversary,” I said, forcing a smile that trembled. “I made dinner. I thought...

He glanced around, taking in the table, the gifts and all. “You didn’t have to do all this.” His tone was rigid, there was no trace of smile at least for the effort. “Put it away, okay? I’m tired. Go to bed.”

The girl giggled, leaning closer to him. “You didn’t tell me your wife was such a romantic,” she teased.

I swallowed hard. “Who is she?”

He shot me a look, the kind that always made me feel small. “Don’t start, Layla.”

I stared at them both, my hands trembling at my sides. “It’s our anniversary,” I whispered again, weaker this time.

He sighed, irritated. “I said go to bed.” He turned slightly to the girl. “We’ll use the guest room tonight.”

She suddenly pouted. “But your room should be bigger, I've always wanted you to fuck me on your matrimonial bed, it'll be spicy."

He smirked, looking at her like she was something precious. “Fine. We’ll use that then. Layla will take the guest room.”

My heart dropped. “What?”

“You heard me.” He was already walking past me, his arm still around her waist. “You’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

Tears pricked my eyes. “You’re bringing her into our room?”

He stopped at the stairs and turned back, his expression cold. “Don’t make a scene woman.”

That was it. Something in me... something I’d spent years trying to hold together, cracked.

"You're never going to see my worth, are you?" The words left my mouth before I could hold it back.

"There's hardly any." He blurted and they bursted into laughter.

I breathed in deeply, willing myself to remain calm at this time. "Why not divorce me then? Instead of this torture?"

He blinked, surprised for half a second, and then laughed. "Divorce you?"

I lifted my chin, even as my vision blurred. “Yes.”

He walked back toward me slowly, hands in his pockets, that mocking smile still on his face. "Because I'm taking pity on you Layla, you haven't realized you're a charity case? You can’t live without me, you have nowhere to go, I'm helping you with a roof over your head," his words stung so hard, but I chuckled instead and let him continue.

"Didn't I pick you from the club and you've lived with me ever since? Even before you forced me to marry you? You should be grateful that I let you use me as a free ticket out of the street woman."

"Well, what if I can survive without you? What if I don't need your charity?"

"I'm sure you can't." He laughed.

"Should we get a divorce and see then?" The words again left my mouth unplanned, but I was glad it came out.

He turned to glance at his mistress, and they both bursted into uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Do you have a death wish woman? You'll literally starve to death the next day, be wise."

I met his eyes, and let a smile spread through my face despite the tears in my eyes. "What do you care?"

His expression hardened. "You're right, I don't, since that's how you want to play it, then you're leaving my house tonight, how about we start with that?"

“Tonight?” I repeated, shocked that he'll even say a thing like that. “It’s almost midnight...

“You want out so bad, don't you? Go. By the time you’ve spent one night on the street, you’ll be begging to come back.”

For a moment, I just stared at him, unable to breathe. Then something inside me stilled... that trembling, desperate part that had been begging for his love. It went silent.

“Alright,” I said softly.

“What?” he frowned.

I smiled in return, not from joy, but from the relief of finally being done. “You win.” I picked up my phone from the table, brushing past him. “I’ll text you where to send the divorce papers.”

"When did she grow some confidence?" I heard him whispered to her.

“Have a good life Donald.” I said, then turned to the young girl beside him. "The bed is no longer our matrimonial bed since we're getting divorced, I wonder if you still find it spicy? Anyways, have fun."

I walked to the door, opened it, and stepped into the night.

The air outside was cold, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil simmering inside my head.

I took a deep breath, the chill burning my lungs, and felt the weight of three years begin to lift.

My hands were shaking as I unlocked my phone and dialed a number. It rang twice before a voice answered.

“Layla? It’s late. What’s wrong?”

“Book a reservation at the most expensive hotel in New York for me, brother.” My voice trembled, but I forced it steady. “I’ll explain everything soon.”