On the day I married Layla Matthews, my mother was run over and killed.
The hit-and-run driver was Bryce Gilbert—the young heir Layla had raised herself.
In the traffic footage released by police, Bryce's Maybach dragged my mother for miles. By the time he stopped, white bone gleamed through torn flesh.
"This time, he went too far. Whatever you decide, I'll stand by you."
In eight years together, it was the first time Layla had ever taken my side.
Empowered by her support, I filed charges against Bryce Gilbert for intentional homicide.
But the night before the trial, Layla threw a blank check at me and demanded I withdraw.
"Bryce is young. He doesn't understand consequences. Boys make mistakes—I've already punished him." Her voice was dismissive. "Prison will ruin his entire life."
"He killed someone, Layla!"
She wouldn't listen.
To ensure I missed court, she had me locked in the basement. I was already weak, and three days in the damp cold without food nearly broke me.
In that darkness, the truth finally crystallized: in Layla's world, I didn't exist. I never had.
——
After three days, the heavy door creaked open. Layla stepped into the dim light.
"About withdrawing the lawsuit—have you thought it through?"
No asking if I was okay. No food or water. Her first words were for that pampered murderer she called family.
I forced my head up, grinding my teeth to stop my jaw from trembling.
"I will never withdraw." My voice was raspy but firm. "Bryce will pay for what he did."
Layla crossed her legs. Shadows hid her expression, but the chill in her gaze was unmistakable.
"He's young," she repeated, bored. "He drank too much and hit your mother. That's all. I'll pay compensation—write whatever number you want on that check. Still not enough?"
She leaned forward. "Based on your mother's age—sixty—legal compensation would be a million at most. You're actually profiting from this."
Profiting.
The word hit me like a physical blow. Air caught in my throat. Acid churned in my stomach as cold sweat broke across my skin.
"That was my mother!" I choked out. "The woman who gave birth to me! She's not something you measure with money!"
I slammed my palm against the floor. "Bryce knew he hit someone. He knew, and he still dragged her until she was crushed. That's not an accident—that's murder! Shouldn't he pay for his own crimes?"
Layla's brows drew tight. Her patience had evaporated.
"One last chance."
She signaled her assistant, who stepped forward and held a tablet to my face.
On the screen: my father's hospital room. He'd been in a vegetative state for years, motionless in his bed. But he wasn't alone.
A figure stood over him, scissors poised directly above his oxygen tube.
"Withdraw the lawsuit, or keep your father alive." Layla's voice was ice. "Choose."
Blood surged to my skull. I screamed and lunged forward, but her bodyguards pinned me to the cold floor.
"Weigh your options," she said, looking down at me. "Do you really want to destroy everything you have for the sake of a dead woman?"
Her words cut deeper than any blade.
Years ago, when Layla had just taken over the Matthews empire, her iron-fisted leadership made dangerous enemies. She was kidnapped during a trade conference.
My father was the lead officer on that case.
In the moment between life and death, he took a bullet for her. He saved her life.
Out of guilt and gratitude, Layla brought my mother and me into her home and covered all my father's medical expenses. For five years, she gave me the best care imaginable. In that closeness, we developed feelings for each other.
The year I graduated, Layla declared her love at the ceremony. In front of the entire school, she promised me the happiest life in the world.
In the end, she broke that promise.
