Todos os capítulos de A Love Forged In Ruins : Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

Layla’s POVShe chose the garden behind the hospice.It was quiet. Tucked away from the main road, with cracked benches and overgrown vines curling around the fences. It smelled like earth and old rain. Peaceful—too peaceful for what I was about to say.Verena sat waiting on the far bench, wrapped in a long brown coat, scarf pulled tightly around her neck despite the warm afternoon sun. Her hands were folded in her lap, frail, almost trembling. She looked thinner. Paler.We hadn’t spoken in two weeks.Not since the café. Not since she hinted at her “medical bills” and tried to lace guilt into every word.But I’d found her again.Not because I missed her—but because I couldn’t keep waking up with questions burning holes in my chest. And because no matter how much I hated it… part of me wanted to understand. Needed to.I walked over slowly, the sound of my heels crunching on gravel announcing me. She looked up.Her smile was soft. Hesitant.“Layla.”“Don’t,” I said quickly. “Don’t act l

Layla's Pov The lights in the boutique were soft, warm, like a quiet sunrise. I stood in the center of the room, surrounded by pieces that weren’t just fabric or stitches anymore. They were memories I hadn’t lived, emotions I hadn’t known I needed to feel. I'd decided to spend more time here and leave House of Amara in Damian's care.The sketches I’d found in Verena’s box—tucked away in the corner of her crumbling apartment—were more than drawings. They were windows into the life she once imagined. Dresses made of light, strength, sorrow, softness. I had taken them, reworked them, added my own vision. Every design on display tonight was half her, half me. But the story behind them? That was all mine.It wasn’t a big event. Just a small showing. A few close friends. A few loyal clients. And Ashley, a client's daughter who hadn’t let go of my hand since she walked in.“Aunty,” she whispered, tugging gently at my fingers. “You okay?”I nodded, squeezing her hand back. “Yeah. Just... a l

Layla’s POVThe silence in the house was unbearable.Not the peaceful kind—the kind that wraps itself around your shoulders like a soft blanket at the end of a long day—but the suffocating kind. The kind that presses against your chest like a weight you can’t shake. It followed me from the living room to the kitchen, into the bedroom, and curled into the corners of my studio like a ghost that refused to leave.Verena’s ghost.She was gone. Dead. Buried beneath a polished marble headstone that read a name I was only just beginning to claim as part of my story. The woman who gave birth to me, who disappeared, who returned too late, who tried—maybe not enough, but still tried.And now, she was just... silence.I hadn’t stepped outside in three days.The boutique was closed. Damian had quietly rescheduled every meeting, every appointment, without asking. He was careful not to push, careful not to hover—but I could feel him outside the door, pacing sometimes, pausing other times. Waiting f

Damian’s POVThe air in the rooftop lounge smelled like expensive scotch and slick promises.From where I stood, the city stretched out below in a shimmer of light and movement—alive, relentless, humming with the kind of energy that never really sleeps. But my body felt distant from it. My mind was somewhere else.Back home.Layla was probably curled on the couch with a blanket draped over her legs and a half-empty cup of ginger tea cooling beside her. I pictured her eyes half-lidded with sleep, the soft curve of her belly rising beneath her sweatshirt. She’d gotten quieter since the illness. Not fragile—but slower. Thoughtful in a way that made me ache.I hated being away from her. Especially tonight. But this meeting couldn’t wait.“You know,” a voice drawled behind me, rich and smooth, “I expected you to be taller.”I turned.Silas Reign strolled toward me like he owned the skyline.He wore a deep charcoal blazer over a silk-black shirt, unbuttoned just enough to toe the line betwe

Layla’s POVThe text came in the middle of a team meeting on Zoom. A quick buzz in my pocket, followed by the name “Miriam” flashing across my screen. Miriam—one of our board members and, in her own way, a friend. I would’ve ignored it, but something about the timing made my stomach twist.I excused myself, stepped out into the hallway, and answered."Layla, I just wanted to confirm—you're aligned with Damian on the NovaLux merger pitch, right?"My breath caught. "What merger pitch?"There was a pause. A sharp inhale on the other end of the line."Oh.""Miriam," I said, my voice tightening. "What are you talking about?""I thought—he hasn’t told you?""No. He hasn’t told me a damn thing."The moment I ended the call, the world around me shifted. My stomach hurt, I placed my hand on my swollen belly, making sure my baby was alright.A merger pitch? With NovaLux?We had talked about this—countless times. About keeping House of Amara true to its roots. About ethics. About sustainability.