30. Bennett
BENNETT
N ine o'clock and still no Layla.
I pace the kitchen, phone clutched in my hand, stopping every few seconds to stare at the untouched wine on the counter. She's never this late without calling. Never leaves me wondering where she is.
Something's wrong.
I hit call again, my fourth attempt in twenty minutes. Straight to voicemail.
“Layla, it's me. Call me. Please.”
My chest tightens as I hang up. After everything today—the meetings, the phone calls, the careful planning to secure her future—I need to see her. Need to tell her everything. Need to watch her face when she realizes I'm willing to fight my own board for her.
My phone buzzes. Finally.
Layla:
Not feeling well. Staying at my apartment tonight. Don't want to get you sick. Talk tomorrow .
The words hit wrong. Cold. Clinical. Nothing like her usual texts filled with rambling thoughts and heart emojis.
Me:
What's wrong? What can I bring you?
The response takes forever.
Layla:
Just tired. Need sleep.
Four words. That's it. No 'love you.' No 'see you tomorrow.' Nothing.
Me:
I'm coming over.
Layla:
No need.
Me:
Not asking. Be there in 30.
She doesn't respond.
Twenty-eight minutes later, I'm standing outside her door with pharmacy bags filled with soup, medicine, tissues, a ridiculous stuffed bear that says 'Feel Better.' My hands shake as I knock.
When she opens the door, my heart stops.
She's not sick. She's devastated.
Red eyes. Messy hair. Work clothes wrinkled like she's been curled up in them for hours. She looks broken, and the sight makes my chest cave in.
“What happened?” I push inside, dropping the bags to cup her face. “Who hurt you? ”
She pulls away and closes the door. “You did.”
The words punch through me. “What?”
When she turns back, her face is stone. “Phase Two, Bennett. I know about Phase Two.”
Every molecule of oxygen leaves the room.
No. Not like this. Not before I could explain.
“Layla, let me?—”
“Explain? Explain what?” Her voice is deadly quiet.
“How in twelve months, everyone I care about loses their jobs? Or how you knew I’ve been working my ass off to make NeuraTech viable enough to save them, that you let me believe I’d make a difference, and the whole time you were planning on destroying my father's company anyway, not to mention fucking me while you did it!”
The crude words from her lips shock me. She never talks like that. Never reduces what we have to something so ugly.
“It's not what you think.”
“Isn't it?” She crosses her arms. “Because it seemed pretty straightforward in the documents I saw today. Campus closure. Ninety percent of jobs eliminated. My father fired. Me given a pity consulting role before you throw me away too.”
My stomach drops. She's seen everything. The worst possible version before I could show her the rest.
“That's not what's going to happen,” I say, stepping closer.
She backs away. “Really? Because it has your signature on it.”
“It did. Not anymore. I've been changing it.”
Her mask slips for just a second. “What? ”
“Your father came to see me. Asked me to keep you on permanently.” I close the distance between us. “I said yes.”
“My father...” She looks stunned. “You spoke to my father behind my back?”
“He came to me. Wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”
“Oh great. So I’ll get a role because I’m fucking the CEO?
What happens if I’m not in your bed in twelve month’s time, Bennett?
Does that role disappear? And what about everyone else?
” The mask snaps back into place. “What about Audrey?
What about the two hundred-odd people who don't know they're getting fired?”
Shit. “Layla?—”
“What about them, Bennett?”
I can't lie. Not now. “Some positions can't be saved.”
“Some?” Her voice climbs. “Try most. Try almost everyone. Far more than we agreed on during our integration meetings.”
“The alternative to this merger was bankruptcy,” I say, desperation creeping in. “Everyone would have lost their jobs then.”
“But that was before everything else happened. We’ve been bargaining and adjusting for weeks. For what? For you to lie to us? String us along for a year while planning our execution?”
“I wasn't lying to anyone. This is how acquisitions work—we integrate, merge into one company. You knew that going in.”
“I knew you were buying us. I didn't know you were butchering us. ”
Her words cut deep because she's not wrong. “I'm trying to save what I can.”
“No, Bennett. I was trying to save it. You let me believe that I could.” She starts pacing, energy crackling off her.
“I've killed myself trying to make this work. Staying up all night, defending every position, fighting for every budget line. For what? So you end up richer and our employees get one more year of job security before the axe falls?”
“This is what I’ve always done,” I say, hating the truth of it. “But it’s not what I wanted to do to you. The rest…it’s just business.”
“This isn't business!” She whirls on me, tears starting. “And it isn’t just about me. These are people's lives. Their families. My family.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because they look like numbers on a spreadsheet to you.”
The accusation hits home. “What did you think would happen? You knew what Mercer Capital does. Why would you expect anything different?”
“I thought we were fixing things. Together.” Her voice breaks. “I thought you cared about more than profit.”
“I care about you.”
“But not about what matters to me.” She wraps her arms around herself. “Not about my team. My father's legacy. The people who trusted me to protect them.”
“I'm protecting you,” I insist. “I'm fighting for your future—for our future.”
“I don't want special treatment,” she says, tears flowing now. “I want fairness. For everyone. ”
“Life isn't fair. Neither is business.” The words come out harsher than I mean. “This is a goddamn acquisition! I'm not a charity, Layla.”
The moment I say it, I know I've fucked up.
Her face goes blank. Like I've just confirmed her worst fears about who I really am.
“You're right,” she says with a hollow laugh. “There's no such thing as a benevolent billionaire, is there? Your money comes from destroying lives. I knew that. I’m an idiot to think you wouldn’t destroy mine.”
“That's not?—”
“I think you should leave.”
The words hit like a physical blow. This woman who whispered she loved me, who made me believe I could be better, now looks at me like I'm poison.
“Layla, please?—”
“I need space, Bennett, please. I can’t do this.” Her voice cracks. “I can't be with someone who’s values are so completely different from mine.”
“Don't say that.”
“Why not? It's true.” She faces me again, and the pain in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees.
“You know what the worst part is? I actually convinced myself we wanted the same things. That you cared so much about me, about us that you would let my company survive if I could make you enough money with our tech. But this was never the plan, was it? You were just stringing along the na?ve little COO while you surged forward with the plan to dismantle her world.”
“No.” The word tears from my throat. “What we have is real.”
“Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you were planning on getting me out of your system and discarding me along with everyone else.”
Her words shatter something inside me. “How can you say that? After everything?—”
“After everything what? After you let me fall in love with you while actively planning to betray me? After you let me believe we had a future while plotting to eliminate my family name?” She's crying hard now, but her voice stays strong.
“I told you I loved you, Bennett. And you've been lying to me this entire time.”
“I haven't been lying?—”
“You've been planning to fire my father. To shut down our research. To eliminate almost everyone I work with. You’ve sat with me almost every night, Bennett. Watched me working myself to the bone. And you never said a word.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “What do you call that?”
I open my mouth but no words come. Because she's right. I have been lying. To her, to myself, to everyone.
“Please go,” she whispers. “I need you to leave.”
“Layla—”
“Please.” She can't even look at me anymore. “Just go.”
I want to fight. Want to grab her and make her listen. Want to explain that I'm not the monster she thinks I am.
But looking at her—broken, betrayed, destroyed—I realize maybe I am.
So I go. I leave her standing in the center of her apartment, arms wrapped around herself like she’s the only one holding her together, and I close the door behind me, walking away from the best thing that ever happened to me.
In the car, staring at Chicago's lights through the window, I replay every word. Every moment. Searching for what I could have said differently.
But the truth is brutal and simple: She's right about who I am. I am exactly the man she thinks I am.
And for the first time in my life, I hate myself for it.