2. Guilt

The room smelled faintly of lemons and rosemary. It was supposed to be calming, but to me, it felt suffocating—like every breath was a reminder of the life I had been pushed into.

Xavier’s father, Mr. Russell, had been surprisingly composed about the entire scandal. He hadn’t humiliated my parents; he hadn’t lashed out in public. Instead, he had kept his voice steady, his dignity intact, only admitting quietly that he was “deeply disappointed in Yuri.” Then, in front of my mother, he had said that once the public’s memory faded, a divorce could be arranged.

But Xavier— he didn't speak a single word. Only glances that threw daggers at me. Yuri and Xavier knew each other since past six months. It was so out of nowhere when she called a month back telling me she's getting married to someone she met 6 months back. But that's who Yuri was. Always chaotic, always the adventurous one. And look now, she's gone. Ran away.

I shouldn't think about it so much and yet the silence made my chest heavy. My shoulders still bent under the weight of guilt. I tried calling Liam, but he never answered. At first, I thought he was furious and avoiding me. But then, Dad mentioned that Liam had never even come to the wedding. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t explained.

Where was he?

And Yuri—where had she gone? She had left behind nothing. Not even a note. She couldn’t have imagined that I’d be the one to take her place.

I checked my phone again. Still no word from either of them. My chest ached, and my eyes burned.

That was when my phone rang. Mom.

“Layla,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I didn’t want to wake you, but your father and I… we have to leave urgently. The London branch of the company is collapsing financially. We’re leaving for the airport in an hour.”

“Wait—what? I’ll come see you off.”

“No.” Her voice grew sharp with panic. “Don’t. Your father still believes it was Yuri who married Xavier. I haven’t told him the truth yet. Stay. Please, Layla.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Mom…”

“I’ll call you once we land. Take care of yourself.” And then she hung up.

The silence swallowed me whole.

My chest tightened until I couldn’t sit still. I wandered into the kitchen, my vision blurred, my cheeks wet. And then, like always, I cooked. Whenever my heart broke, I cooked. It was the only way I knew to survive my own tears.

At four in the morning, the kitchen smelled of burnt onions and salt. I was sobbing into the pan, my hands trembling, when a deep voice startled me.

“What are you doing?”

I spun around, wiping my tears quickly. Xavier stood there, his dark hair tousled, his eyes sharp even in the dim light. He looked both exhausted and unshakably composed, leaning against the doorway as if he had been watching me for a while.

“I… I cook when I am not feeling good,” I admitted, embarrassed, clutching the wooden spoon like it could shield me.

He raised an eyebrow. “At four a.m.?”

I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

After a long pause, he sighed. “Go get dressed. We’re going to see your parents off.”

“How did you know my parents are leaving?”, I asked.

“Your mother texted me, there's some issues at the company I suppose, go get dressed”,

“What? No—you don’t have to. My father still is unaware of what happened my mother has asked me not to come. So its better if we don't —”

“I don’t think I need advice,” he said coolly, stepping further into the kitchen, “from someone whose sister betrayed me.” His voice cut like glass. “And don’t think you’re some saint, Layla. Does your boyfriend know you married me? You did the same to him that your sister did to me.”

The air froze between us. My lips parted, but no words came.

Xavier’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—anger, maybe disappointment—before he turned away. “So go get dressed.”

I stood in the kitchen, trembling, the scent of burnt food heavy around me enough to make me feel nauseated. My tears kept falling, but this time, I didn’t reach for the stove.