13. Layla
— ? —
Layla
The hotel was gorgeous, but I barely saw it.
I had already sent a text to Nessa explaining we’d be running late for the meeting. The bitch had just sent a series of concerning GIFs in response.
Traitor.
Stefan walked beside me through room after room, pointing out architectural details, discussing potential layouts. His voice washed over me while my body tracked his every movement.
I nodded along, made notes I wouldn’t remember, snapped photos of things I’d already documented with Nessa. My mouth formed words while my skin prickled with awareness of him.
Too close.
He kept standing too close. Brushing against me in doorways. Leaning over my shoulder to look at my phone screen.
“The ceiling medallions are original.” He pointed up and his arm almost touched mine. “Nineteenth century plasterwork.”
“I noticed them before.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “With Nessa.”
“Right.” He dropped his arm. “Of course you did.”
The next room had a fireplace. I examined it, pretending to check the flue, really just trying to create distance. He followed. Always following.
“The foundation work will take longer than estimated.” I kept my back to him. “Three months minimum before we can start on interiors.”
“That’s fine.” His voice was closer now. Right behind me. “I’m not in a hurry.”
I turned to tell him to back off, and he was right there. Inches away. His eyes dark, fixed on my face.
“Stefan.” A warning in my voice.
“Layla.” Not a warning. A plea.
“We should finish the walkthrough.” Trying to step around him.
He moved with me, blocking my path. His hand caught my elbow and electricity shot up my arm.
“Let go.” But my voice was breathy now.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His grip tightened. “Being this close to you. Smelling your perfume. Watching you move through these rooms. It’s killing me, Lay.”
“Don’t.” Trying to pull away, but not hard enough. Not really trying.
His other hand came up to cup my face. “Four years of missing you. Four years of reaching for you in the middle of the night and finding nothing.”
My back hit the wall. I hadn’t realized I was retreating.
He caged me in, one hand still on my face, the other planted beside my head. His body pressed against mine, and I felt him. Hard against my hip. Wanting me.
“Stefan, we can’t.” But my hands were on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, not pushing him away.
“Tell me you don’t feel this.” His mouth hovering over mine. “Tell me you don’t want this as much as I do.”
Without thinking I curled my fingers around his shirt. And instead of pushing him away, I leaned in.
He kissed me.
No warning. No buildup. His mouth crashed into mine and my brain short-circuited.
I gasped against his lips and he swallowed the sound, his tongue sliding against mine. His hands dropped to my hips and yanked me flush against him, and I felt the full length of his erection pressing into my stomach.
Oh god. Oh god, I still wanted him. After everything. After all of it. My body didn’t care about betrayal or lies or four years of rage.
My body only knew that he was here, hard and desperate against me, kissing me like I was air and he was drowning.
“Missed you.” He groaned against my mouth, hands sliding down to grip my ass. “Missed you so fucking much.”
I should stop. Should push him away. Should remember why I left.
But the kiss felt like coming home. His taste, his smell, the sounds he made when I bit his bottom lip. My body remembered all of it, craved all of it, screamed for more of it.
“Lay.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes wild. “I never stopped wanting you. Not for a single day.”
I kissed him again. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop myself. My hands found his hair and pulled him down to me, and he groaned and lifted me off my feet. My legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed me harder into the wall, grinding against me, his mouth hot on my throat.
“Every night.” His teeth scraped my pulse point. “Every fucking night I thought about you. About this. About how you taste, how you sound, how you feel around me.”
My head fell back against the wall. My hips rolled against his. Pleasure building, sharp and desperate, after years of nothing.
His phone rang.
The sound cut through the haze, shrill and insistent. Stefan froze against me, his breath ragged, his hands still gripping my thighs.
It rang again.
Reality crashed back. The fog cleared. And I saw myself, wrapped around my ex-husband in an abandoned building, moaning while he dry-humped me against a wall.
What the fuck was I doing?
I shoved him. Hard. He stumbled backward, his face dazed, his chest heaving.
“Layla...”
“Don’t.” I yanked my dress down, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the fabric. “Don’t say my name. Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me.”
“What just happened?” He looked genuinely confused, still breathing hard, his erection obvious through his pants. “We were... and then...”
“And then I remembered who you are.” The words came out vicious. “I remembered what you did.”
“What I did?” His confusion deepened. “Lay, I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.” A bitter laugh scraped my throat. “Of course you’re going to stand there and play innocent. That’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve always done.”
“I’m not playing anything.” He stepped toward me and I backed away, putting a broken chair between us. “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a liar.” My voice rising now, the rage I’d suppressed for years finally breaking free. “You’re a fucking liar and I was a fool to ever believe anything you said.”
“What did I lie about?” His hands spread wide, his face a mask of bewilderment. “Tell me. Please. Because I’ve been trying to understand why you left for four years and no one will give me a straight answer.”
“You know why I left.”
“I don’t.” He grabbed the chair between us, knuckles white. “I came home and you were gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
“What it did to you?” The words exploded out of me. “What about what you did to me? What about standing in that boutique and hearing my husband say I wasn’t good enough? That I’d never be good enough?”
“What are you talking about?” His brow furrowed. “I was never-”
“I’m not talking about you being there.” Tears burning now, hot and furious. “I’m talking about the recording. Your voice. Telling her exactly what you thought of me. And then I drove to your office, and I saw her with you. Pippa. Her hand on your shoulder, the two of you laughing.”
“What recording?” He came around the chair, reaching for me.
“Stay back.” I held up my hands. “I swear to god, Stefan, if you touch me right now I will scream.”
He stopped. His hands dropped to his sides.
“Please.” His voice cracked. “Please just explain. I don’t understand any of this.”
“You don’t understand.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “You don’t understand why your wife might be upset that you told your mother she was worthless. That she’d be a terrible mother. That you wished you’d married her sister instead.”
The color drained from his face.
“I never said that.” Barely a whisper.
“I heard you, Stefan.” My voice breaking. “I heard your voice. Saying I had no passion. No drive. That I was just there, just existing, taking up space in your life. That marrying me was the biggest mistake you ever made.”
“That’s not...” He shook his head slowly, hand reaching for the wall to steady himself. “I would never... Layla, I would never say any of that.”
“But you did.” Tears streaming now, no point in wiping them. “Your mother played me the recording the day I left. Your voice, Stefan. Your exact voice. Telling her all the things you really thought about me.”
“My mother.” His face shifted, something dark moving behind his eyes.
“She was trying to warn me.” The words tasted like acid. “For once in her miserable life, she was trying to do me a favor. Show me who I really married.”
“Layla, listen to me.” He stepped closer, his voice urgent. “I don’t know what you heard on that recording. But I never said those words. I never thought those words. Whatever that was, it wasn’t real.”
“Don’t.” I backed away until my shoulders hit the wall. “Don’t gaslight me.”
“I’m not gaslighting you.” His eyes were wet now. “I’m telling you the truth. I loved you. I was obsessed with you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and losing you nearly killed me.”
“Then explain the recording.”
“I can’t.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t know anything about a recording. All I know is what happened after you left.”
“What happened after I left is that you got exactly what you wanted.” My voice cold now, the rage crystallizing into ice. “Your mistake erased. Your inconvenient wife disappeared.”
“That’s not...” He grabbed his hair, pulling hard. “That’s the opposite of what I wanted. I wanted you back. I did everything I could to find you.”
“Obviously not everything.”
“What did I do that was so terrible you had to disappear completely?”
“I already told you what you did.”
“A recording.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “A recording that I never made. Of words I never said. And you believed it without even asking me.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Screaming now. “Call you up and say, ‘Hey honey, did you tell your mom I was worthless?’ You would have denied it. You would have lied, just like you’re lying now.”
“I’m not lying.” He crossed to me in three strides and grabbed my shoulders. “Look at me, Layla. Look at my face. I am not lying. I never said those things. I never thought those things. Someone manipulated you into believing a lie.”
“Let go of me.” Struggling in his grip.
“Not until you hear me.” His fingers tightened. “You signed divorce papers. You signed them and sent them through my mother without ever talking to me. Do you have any idea how that felt? Getting paperwork instead of an explanation?”
“I never signed anything.” The words came out before I could think.
His hands went slack. “What?”
“I never signed divorce papers.” My voice hollow now. “I just left. I drove to Georgia and never looked back. I never talked to your mother. I never signed anything.”
“That’s impossible.” His face gray. “I saw the papers. Your signature. Your handwriting.”
My legs giving out. I slid down the wall until I hit the floor. “Stefan. I never signed anything. ’Cause if I did it meant you’d find us. So no. I didn’t bother.”
He stared at me. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“My mother gave me those papers.” Speaking slowly, like each word cost him something. “She said you’d sent them to her.”
“I never talked to her.” My voice flat. “The last time I saw your mother was in that boutique. When she played me the recording. When she showed me who you really were.”
“Except I’m not that person.” He dropped to his knees in front of me. “I never said those things. Which means...”
He couldn’t finish. His face crumpled.
“She did this.” His voice cracking. “My mother. She played you a fake recording. She gave me forged papers. She destroyed us and we both just... we believed her.”
My chest squeezed so tight I couldn’t breathe. The room tilted. My hands were shaking, my vision blurring, my heart racing so fast I thought it might explode.
“I can’t.” Scrambling to my feet. “I can’t do this.”
“Layla, wait.” He grabbed for me and I stumbled backward.
“Don’t touch me.” The walls closing in now. Everything too loud, too bright, too much. “I can’t... this is too much. I can’t process this.”
“We need to talk about this.” He stood, reaching for me again. “We need to figure out...”
“I can’t.” Backing toward the door, my legs barely holding me up. “I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here.”
“Please.” His voice breaking. “Don’t leave. Not again. Not like this.”
But I couldn’t stay. The panic was clawing up my throat, stealing my air, making the room spin around me. Too much. Too fast. Too close. He was too close and the walls were too close and the truth was too close and I couldn’t breathe couldn’t think couldn’t stay couldn’t...
I turned and ran.
Down the hallway. Through the lobby. My heels catching on broken floorboards. My breath coming in ragged gasps. My vision tunneling until all I could see was the door, the exit, escape.
I burst outside and the air hit my face but it didn’t help. I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to fill my lungs. Tears and snot streaming down my face. My whole body shaking.
Everything I’d believed. Everything I’d built my life around. The rage that had sustained me for four years. All of it was crumbling, falling apart, leaving nothing but confusion and grief and a horrible, dawning understanding.
Behind me, his fist slammed into something.
The crash echoed across the empty lot.
I didn’t remember deciding to call Nessa. Just her car pulling up to the curb, her hand squeezing mine at every red light, and her not asking a single question the whole way home.