~LAYLA~
The rest of the day passed in a haze of clicking keyboards, half-read emails, and my brain replaying every moment of lunch with Axel.
By the time the clock hit five-thirty, I’d read the same paragraph of a report so many times I could probably recite it in my sleep.
Helena popped her head into my office, adjusting her glasses as she stepped inside.
"Mrs. O’Brien? I just want to let you know that Mr. O’Brien has already left for the day. He asked me to arrange a car to take you home."
She was being professional, but the words still stung a little. I didn’t know why I was surprised.
Axel didn’t owe me explanations for his comings and goings, but after the way lunch had ended, the idea of him leaving without so much as a word made my chest tighten.
I kept my face neutral, even though I felt a bit disappointed inside. "Alright. Thanks."
She gave a small nod, but as she turned to leave, she hesitated, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her tablet. "Actually..." Her voice dropped just a little. "I wanted to thank you... for earlier. For not letting him fire me."
I blinked. "You don’t need to thank me for that."
"I do," she insisted. "If I lost this job... I don’t know what I’d do."
She hesitated before adding. "My parents died just before I turned eighteen. It was so sudden, and it left me with a mountain of debt and two little brothers to raise. This job, it’s the reason I can keep a roof over our heads. I couldn’t afford to lose it."
That twist in my chest came back, but for a different reason. "Helena..."
She shook her head quickly, like she didn’t want to risk tearing up in front of me. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate it. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Layla."
"Goodnight, Helena," I said softly. "And get home safe."
"You too, Mrs. Layla."
Once she was gone, I gathered my things and followed her out to the car waiting for me downstairs.
—
The ride home was smooth, with the city lights blurring past the tinted windows.
When I stepped inside Axel’s mansion, there was no sign of him in the foyer, the dining area, or the sitting room. Either he was buried in work or hiding in his own quarters.
As I passed the closed door of his study, I slowed. Something about that room pulled at me, probably the same instinct that had kept me replaying his reaction to my questions all day.
I forced myself to keep walking. Curiosity was one thing but breaking into a man’s private space was another. I wouldn’t stoop that low.
Still, even after a long, warm bath and changing into a silk robe, I found myself lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling restless.
This was the problem. My life before Axel had been filled with rigid schedules and my father’s suffocating control. Every hour was accounted for and there was no room for hobbies, helpless fun or mistakes. Now I had all this space and no idea what to do with it.
I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling with the same thought looping in my head: I needed a life or Friends, maybe. Or even just a hobby that didn’t involve strategising my next move in this twisted game I’d landed in.
After an hour of pointless ceiling-staring, I decided to go downstairs. Maybe dinner would help distract me.
Halfway down, a maid carrying a tray of cutlery passed me in the hall. "Dinner will be served soon, ma’am."
I nodded. "Where’s Axel?"
"He stepped out for his evening run, ma’am. He should be back shortly."
My gaze drifted toward his study door again, and I felt another wave of curiosity. This time, I didn’t turn away and walked in slowly. If he was gone, then now was the time.
Inside, the air felt warmer and had a light scent of leather and a hint of spice. The decor was made of deep mahogany wood, dark green accents, and touches of brass. It all felt very masculine and polished, much like him.
I shut the door behind me, feeling a strange thrill in my chest. I hesitated for a moment, wondering what the hell I thought I was looking for, or if I’d recognise it if I found it.
The desk was massive, the kind that could make anyone sitting behind it look like they ruled an empire.
I ran my fingers along the smooth surface, glancing at the neatly stacked folders, mostly invoices, meeting agendas, and market reports. It was too normal.
I checked the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines, half-expecting to find one of those cliché pull-levers that opened a hidden passage, except there was no such luck.
I moved back to the desk, my mind running through what I even hoped to find. Proof he’d done business with my father? A smoking gun that explained why he’d married me?
Then I noticed one of the desk drawers had a tiny, barely visible indentation on the side. It was definitely not a keyhole, and was more of a button.
With my heart thudding, I pressed it.
There was a soft click, and a hidden compartment opened, revealing a file that slid out a little.
I caught it before it could hit the floor. Inside were contracts, partnership agreements, and various business documents. But one name kept appearing over and over again: Watson Holdings.
My father’s company.
What the hell?
I frowned, flipping through them. The documents weren’t recent, most were dated anywhere from seven to ten years ago. And then another name appeared. Not one I recognised, but the last name matched Axel’s. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots, it was obvious our families had once been tied in business.
So what had happened? And why had my father’s last words to me sounded like a warning?
A piece of paper slipped from between the contracts, fluttering to the carpet. I crouched down to pick it up.
It was a letter, sealed in an unmarked envelope.
I slid my finger under the flap, ready to pull it open, but the next thing I heard froze me in place. "What the fuck are you doing here?"