LOGINVoss opened the car door and stood there for a moment, unable to move. Layla was still in the same position he had left her in. Her body was curled inward, knees pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them as if she was trying to protect herself from something unseen. Her head was bowed, hair falling forward, hiding her face completely. The car was quiet except for the faint, broken sounds coming from her chest. She wasn’t sobbing loudly anymore. She was past that. Her cries were quiet now, cracked, uneven. The kind of crying that came after the storm, when someone had already screamed themselves empty and was left with nothing but pain and exhaustion. Voss felt something twist sharply in his chest. “Layla,” he said softly. She flinched. Her head snapped up, eyes wide and red, lashes clumped together with tears. She looked at him like she wasn’t sure he was real. Like she was afraid he might disappear if she blinked. Then her face crumpled. “Voss—” she gasped, he
The door opened slowly.Bernice walked back into the room with a slim brown envelope in her hand, the kind hospitals used. It looked harmless. Ordinary. But the way she held it, firmand confident, it made Layla’s heart begin to pound so hard she could hear it in her own ears.Layla’s fingers tightened around Voss’s hand. Her palm was cold, damp with sweat and Voss pressed her it in a reasurring manner.Bernice closed the door behind her and sat down with calm precision. She placed the envelope on the table between them, smoothing it once with her fingers like she was laying down the final card in a game she already knew she would win.“This,” Bernice said softly, “will clarify everything.”The room felt smaller. The air heavier.Voss didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His face was unreadable.Layla stared at the envelope. Something deep inside her screamed that whatever was inside it would destroy her.Bernice opened it slowly.She pulled out the first paper and slid it across the table.L
The morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting stripes across the bedroom floor. Layla stirred, blinking against the brightness, but her body felt heavy, weighed down by the memories of last night. The warmth of Voss’s presence lingered beside her, the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to the sheets, but it wasn’t comforting this morning. Her stomach was tight with worry. The thought of his mother loomed over her like a storm cloud. What could she have discovered? What could she possibly know about her past? She tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on the quiet calm of the morning, but they kept circling, growing heavier with every heartbeat. Voss was already awake. The soft clinking of cups and the low hum of the coffee machine reached her ears as she slipped out of bed. He didn’t look up as she entered the kitchen, his focus entirely on preparing their morning coffee. He moved with a precision that betrayed the tension in his shoulders, the set of his
Voss stood just inside the doorway, his hand still resting on the doorframe as if he had forgotten how to move forward. His jacket hung loosely from one arm, his tie already tugged halfway loose. He had come home exhausted, shoulders tight from meetings and endless decisions, mind still tangled in numbers and problems that refused to stay at the office. Adrian had always found a way to make him work harder than he should, not that he was complaining although he sure could use a break. Then the smell reached him. It stopped him cold. Warm coconut. Tomato. Spice. Something creamy and rich that wrapped around him before he could think. It was not sharp or overwhelming. It was gentle. Inviting. The kind of smell that did not demand attention but quietly pulled you in. He blinked slowly and looked past Layla into the apartment. The lights were softer than usual. Not dim, just warm. The small dining table had been cleared and set neatly. A pot rested on the stove, steam curling l
Layla stared at her screen as if the message might vanish if she blinked too hard. She reread Elara Vance’s words again and again. Each time the meaning hit her with a fresh rush that tightened her chest.Elara Vance. The Elara Vance. The woman whose exhibitions filled halls from Paris to Seoul. The woman whose critiques could elevate an artist into a new orbit or crush them with the gentlest sentence. The woman Layla had quietly admired for years.And Elara had sent her a message. Not a reaction to a story or a polite acknowledgment. A message. A glowing, encouraging one that praised her Aurora piece.Layla pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was racing so fast she felt it against her palm like a trapped bird. Excitement pushed at her ribs, but disbelief tangled with it until she felt almost dizzy.She whispered to the empty apartment, “How did she even see it?”That question slithered in slowly but then rooted deep. She had not uploaded the Aurora painting. She had not shown it o
The boutique was quiet enough that Layla could hear her own breath… uneven, shallow, trembling. The charm glinted mockingly in Mrs. Caldwell’s manicured hand, catching the light like something alive. Layla swallowed. Her cheeks burned. Her vision blurred at the edges. And then… The soft chime of the door. A voice, sharp as glass cutting through silk: “What’s going on here?” Every head turned. Sienna stood framed in the doorway, breath slightly short, cheeks flushed, pregnancy glow doing nothing to soften the fury radiating off her like a warning flare. Layla had never been so relieved to see anyone in her life. The first attendant, Rebecca, went frozen, her mouth slightly parted. She knew exactly who had walked in. Everyone did. Sienna Hawthorne wasn’t just the CEO’s wife, she was a household name, a former A-list actress whose face had been plastered on billboards even now. Rebecca’s knees visibly buckled before she scrambled to put on a bright, sugary smile. “Mrs. Hawtho







