Chapter 2: Laila Did Not Think

Chapter 2

Laila Did Not Think

Laila did not think. She did not breathe. The physical agony of the betrayal snapped something vital inside her, releasing a primal monster she had spent twenty two years keeping in a gilded cage. Her hand gripped the cold brass handle and twisted with such violence the internal mechanism groaned in protest. The door crashed against the wall with a sound like a thunderclap, vibrating through the very floorboards under her feet.

The scene inside was even more grotesque than her mind had pictured. Lyra was arched back, her golden hair a tangled, sweaty mess across Laila’s white silk pillows. Her legs were wrapped tight around Davis’s waist, her heels digging into his back. They did not even have the decency to look horrified at first. Their bodies continued to jerk in a sick, rhythmic heat, lost to the friction and the filth, until the reality of Laila’s presence hit the room like a bucket of ice water.

“You absolute bitch!” Laila roared, the sound tearing from her throat like a physical wound.

She did not wait for them to untangle their sweaty limbs. She lunged across the room, her vision tunneling into a deep, red haze of pure, unadulterated fury. She reached past Davis, her fingers sinking deep into the roots of Lyra’s expensive, salon treated hair. With a guttural snarl that belonged to a predator, Laila yanked.

Lyra let out a piercing, jagged scream as she was dragged bodily across the mattress. Her half naked form hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thud that echoed in the quiet room, but Laila did not stop. She kept pulling, fueled by years of repressed resentment, dragging her sister away from the bed by her scalp as if she were nothing more than a piece of trash.

“My bed?” Laila’s voice was a jagged edge, trembling with a rage so cold it burned. “You fuck my husband to be on my bed? The one thing in this house that was supposed to be mine? You couldn't leave me even this?”

“Laila, stop! You’re hurting her!” Davis scrambled, his face a pathetic mask of terror and raw shame. He did not try to help Laila or offer a word of comfort. He did not even look her in the eye. Instead, he fumbled for his trousers, his hands shaking so violently he could barely pull them over his sweat slicked skin. He looked like a coward, a little boy caught stealing candy from a jar, not the Alpha heir he pretended to be in the boardrooms. Without a single word of apology or a shred of defense, he grabbed his discarded shirt and slipped out the door, his frantic footsteps fading fast as he fled the carnage he had helped create.

“Let me go! You’re crazy!” Lyra shrieked, clawing desperately at Laila’s hands, her eyes welling with the familiar crocodile tears she used whenever she wanted her way.

“Crazy? You’ve taken everything, Lyra! Every grade, every award, every scrap of attention from our parents since the day you were born, and now this?” Laila tightened her grip, her wolf howling for blood in the back of her mind.

The sound of frantic, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Suddenly, the doorway was filled by the tall, elegant frame of Emily Wolfe. She took in the sight of her eldest daughter standing over her youngest, the disheveled bed, and the heavy, cloying scent of sex hanging in the air like a fog.

“Laila! Drop her this instant!” Emily’s voice was not filled with horror at the betrayal. It was filled with sharp, icy command, the tone she used for disobedient servants.

Laila let go, her chest heaving as she fought for air. She looked at her mother, waiting for the comfort, waiting for the righteous anger on her behalf. “Mom... she was with him. In my bed. They were... they were together. Right here.”

Emily did not move toward Laila. She did not offer a hug or a kind word. Instead, she rushed to Lyra’s side, pulling a discarded robe over her daughter's trembling, pale shoulders and stroking her hair with a tenderness Laila had not felt in years. She looked up at Laila with a deep frown that held more annoyance than sympathy.

“Laila, don't be so dramatic. You’ve probably frightened the poor girl to death,” Emily said, her tone dismissive and cold. “Lyra is young. She’s childish and impulsive. She made a mistake, yes, but she didn't mean anything by it. She was just playing, Laila. She didn't think.”

Laila felt like she had been slapped across the face. “Playing? Mom, she was fucking my fiancé. The ceremony is tomorrow! The entire city is coming to watch us bond!”

“And it will stay tomorrow,” Emily snapped, standing up and smoothing her own perfect, wrinkle free dress. “Do you have any idea how much money your father has poured into this event? The Brooke alliance is vital for our pack's standing and our future expansion. You cannot let a little sibling rivalry ruin a multi million dollar merger. You will forgive her, you will wash your face, and you will walk down that aisle as if nothing happened.”

The world slowed down to a crawl. Laila looked at her mother, really looked at her, and saw the truth she had been hiding from herself for decades. To Emily, Laila was not a daughter with a heart. She was a transaction. A piece of chess to be moved across a board.

“A mistake,” Laila whispered, a bitter, broken laugh bubbling up in her throat. “It’s always a mistake when she does it. But when I’m better than her, when I’m smarter or stronger, you tell me to hide it so she doesn't feel bad. I’m never good enough for you, am I? Not unless I’m a sacrificial lamb for your business deals.”

“Laila, watch your tone. You are being ungrateful,” Emily countered, her eyes narrowing.

“No!” Laila screamed, the sound vibrating the very windows in their frames. “I’m done. I’m done being the ghost in this house. I'm done playing the role of the perfect, silent daughter while you let her rot everything I touch!”

She spun around, ignoring Lyra’s forced sobbing and Emily’s cold, sharp demands for her to return. She sprinted down the stairs, her vision blurred by hot, stinging tears that she refused to let fall. She reached the foyer and snatched her purse and car keys from the marble console with a trembling hand.

As she burst through the front doors, she ran straight into the broad, solid chest of Alpha Tyler. He looked at her tear streaked face, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. “Laila? What happened? Why are you running like the house is on fire?”

Laila looked at the man who had ignored her brilliance for twenty two years, the man who would surely tell her to endure the humiliation for the sake of the Wolfe name. He was no better than the woman upstairs. He was just as hollow, just as cruel, and just as blind to her worth.

“Ask your golden daughter,” she spat, pushing past him with a strength that caught him off guard and sent him stumbling.

She jumped into her Porsche and slammed it into gear. The engine roared, a perfect mirror of the scream trapped in her own throat. She did not look back at the mansion as she tore down the cobblestone driveway, leaving the lilies, the diamonds, and the mountain of lies in her dust. She was a Wolfe of no pack, and for the first time in her life, the air she breathed felt like it actually belonged to her.