Chapter 2

Charles kicked a stool over, gritting his teeth. "Layla, stop making a scene. For the past two years since we got back together, I've been spoiling you and putting up with everything, but I won't let you threaten me with divorce."

Layla lowered her eyes, her voice calm. "I'm not threatening you. I'm serious..."

"Layla, your mom's gone, and your dad's been sick for ages," Charles suddenly cut her off, speaking with total conviction. "Where could you possibly go without me?

"No one else in this world will ever love you the way I do. You'd better think long and hard about that."

With that, Charles snatched up his car keys and stormed out.

The chaos faded into silence, and Layla stared at the wreckage around her. She suddenly laughed.

But as she laughed, her tears began to fall.

This love was never pure from the start. She'd been stupid enough to give Charles another chance.

But she wasn't going to stay stupid forever.

Layla picked up her phone and called her lawyer. "Get the divorce papers ready."

*****

By noon, Layla returned home with the divorce papers in hand, and the first thing she saw was Olivia sitting comfortably on the sofa, making herself right at home.

Olivia was there, acting as if she were the lady of the house. She greeted Layla with a casual wave, "Why are you standing there? Come sit down."

"Layla, you're back?" Charles hurried down the stairs.

He walked over to Layla and spoke quietly, "Layla, Eric cornered Olivia at her apartment and scared her badly. She's too shaken to be alone right now. Can she stay with us for a few days?"

Eric King was the spoiled heir who had tried to get handsy with Olivia at the bar last night.

But it had nothing to do with her. Olivia was so scared that she couldn't be alone, so now she got to crash at Layla's place.

If Olivia was too afraid to sleep by herself at night, was Layla supposed to hand over her husband to keep her company? That was ridiculous.

She shot back, "And what if I say no?"

Charles frowned, his annoyance clear. "Layla, after what you did, don't you feel any guilt at all? This isn't like you."

Layla, confused and angry, shot back, "What did I do? Why should I feel guilty for her? If anyone should feel guilty, it's her. She's the one who killed my mom in a drunk driving accident."

Olivia got up, eyes red and watery. "Charles, please, stop. I shouldn't have gotten so upset about your marriage and then driven drunk.

"Hitting her mom was an accident, and I know Layla hates me for it. Even if she really did send Eric after me, I honestly don't blame her."

Layla looked at her, stunned. "You said I sent Eric to mess with you?"

Before Layla could say anything, Charles jumped in, already pointing fingers. "Layla, you come from nothing. You should really learn from Olivia. She's so gracious. How could you do something so cruel?"

Layla's chest was tight with rage as she fired back, "I never did that. I don't know Eric, let alone tell him to go after her. Charles, it's fine if you want to protect her. But never think of dumping all the blame on me."

"Still denying it?" Charles shot her a cold look. "Eric already confessed. It was you who gave him her address."

Layla felt completely drained. She didn't have the energy to argue anymore.

Charles had already decided she was guilty. If he bothered to check, he'd see Eric was framing her. But he didn't.

Or maybe, Charles was hoping she'd take the blame, so he could openly defend Olivia.

When Layla didn't say anything, Charles took it as her accepting the blame.

His attitude softened, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders, gently coaxing her. "Honey, it's fine. Olivia doesn't hold it against you, and neither do I.

"She's really weak right now. Take care of her for a bit, and treat it as making it up to her, okay? I promise I won't bring it up again."

Making it up to her? And who was Layla supposed to be while doing that? The wife, apologizing to the mistress? Or the daughter whose mother was killed, apologizing to her killer?

Charles had already favored Olivia. Nothing Layla did would ever change that.

Layla's ears were ringing. Standing next to Charles made it feel like she was suffocating, like the air had been sucked out of the room.

She pushed Charles away and walked upstairs alone, not saying a word.

Layla lay awake for hours that night, yet sleep wouldn't come.

She wished she could walk out, but she couldn't leave until Charles signed the divorce papers.

In the middle of the night, faint sobs drifted in from the guest room next door.

Charles sat up immediately, and when he turned, he caught sight of Layla's eyes, cold and empty in the moonlight.

He hesitated for a moment, then crouched down in front of her. "Layla, Olivia's crying might keep you from sleeping. I'll go check on her. You try to get some rest."

Charles made it sound like he was doing it for Layla, but the urgency in his steps gave him away.

Layla let out a sarcastic laugh. She was so numb that the pain barely registered anymore.

She didn't know how long she'd been lying there, but she was about to fall asleep.

Just then, the door swung open, and Charles stood by the doorway. "Layla, Olivia's stomach is upset. She's asking for soup."

Layla's head felt like it was splitting. She sat up, staring at him in disbelief. "You want me to make her soup?"

Charles spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Layla, you promised to look after her as an apology. The servants left because of you, so you're the only one who can do it now."

Yeah, all because of her, Charles started changing so many things about himself.

Layla hated having strangers in the house, so the villa that used to have staff around the clock now only had them during the day.

Charles, who never touched a frying pan before, learned to cook so he could whip up midnight snacks for Layla.

Layla thought that meant he loved her. But she couldn't have been more wrong.

The moment Olivia showed up, every bit of favoritism Charles had for Layla was instantly sacrificed.

Now wasn't the time to pick a fight with Charles. The divorce papers needed his signature.

Layla dragged herself downstairs, her head pounding, to make that stupid soup.

As the soup started to boil, Olivia strutted into the kitchen. She was full of energy, not a single sign that she was actually sick.

Olivia crossed her arms, smirking. "Would the daughter of a street cleaner know how to make soup? Or is it going to smell like trash?"

Layla tossed the spoon aside, spun around, and shot her a mocking grin. "And you, the spoiled heiress, barging into my marriage as the mistress? Aren't you nastier than the trash lying on the street?"

Olivia was left speechless, then let out a mocking laugh and suddenly flung the pot of soup right at Layla.

Layla scrambled back, but the boiling soup still scalded her leg.

They both let out a scream.

Charles rushed in, and Olivia held up her reddened fingers, whining pitifully. "Charles, it hurts. You never should've made Layla cook for me."

Charles didn't glance at Layla, who was sweating from the pain. He hurriedly grabbed Olivia's hand and ran it under cold water. "What happened?"

"Maybe she was cranky because I disturbed her sleep," Olivia whimpered, clinging to Charles's shoulder. "I only wanted to help, but as soon as she saw me, she hurled the hot soup right at me."

Layla's leg felt like it was on fire, as if her skin had been ripped off in strips.

She shook from the pain, but then, she had to call out Olivia's lies.

Layla's voice trembled. "She's lying. She started it, mocking me as the daughter of a street cleaner. I snapped back, and then she flipped the pot of soup at me."

Olivia feigned sincerity. "Layla, nobody gets to choose their background. I'd never judge someone for where they come from, much less mock them."

Charles shot her a disapproving look. "Layla, you're way too sensitive. You always think people are looking down on you, so you act like everyone's out to get you."

Layla, frustrated and hurting, blurted out, "There are cameras in the kitchen. Check the footage, and you'll see who's actually lying."

Olivia froze, her eyes red. "So you're reminding me this is your place, and you're the real boss here, huh? Alright, I get it. It's all on me. Charles, I shouldn't have come. I'll leave now."

"Don't go." Charles grabbed her, giving her a sympathetic look. "Sorry you had to go through that. Layla, apologize to her."

Layla looked up, disbelief written all over her face. "Charles, she won't dare to look at the footage, and you're telling me to apologize without bothering to find out the truth? On what grounds?"

"I know Olivia. Sure, she's a little spoiled, but she's never the kind to disrespect anyone, no matter where they come from," Charles insisted. "But you?

"You are always so sensitive and insecure, and you think everyone's out to mock you. Now that Olivia's down, you're making things worse for her. Don't you think you owe her an apology?"

Layla closed her eyes, her voice unwavering. "I didn't do it. I'm not apologizing."

Charles was livid. He yanked Layla toward him, his tone sharp and intimidating. "Are you going to apologize or not?"

"I won't." Layla was defiant and unyielding.

"I've really spoiled you to the point of no return," Charles scoffed, half amused, half furious. He shoved Layla into the basement. "Stay in there and reflect on your actions."

The basement was pitch black, with a bone-chilling cold that made her skin crawl.

Layla was panicked and scared out of her mind, frantically pounding on the door. "Open up. Let me out. Charles, let me out."

She could faintly hear the two of them talking at the door.

"Layla got burned, too," Olivia said gently. "Charles, isn't it a bit harsh to lock her in there?"

Charles scoffed, sounding completely indifferent, "She grew up dirt poor. She can handle a little burn, unlike you, all delicate and spoiled."

Layla slumped against the door, drained. When her leg brushed the wound, the pain made her tears spill over instantly.

Charles's words were like hot oil, and now it wasn't just her leg that felt stripped raw. Layla felt as if her heart had been peeled away, layer by layer, alive and hurting.

Her heart was already dripping with blood, mangled and torn beyond recognition.

The sounds outside vanished, leaving the basement frighteningly silent.

The villa was enormous, and Layla always felt the basement was hauntingly sinister.

She wouldn't dare come down here alone during the day, but Charles had forced her in at midnight and locked the door behind her.

Layla clung to herself, her face very pale.

All she could see was boundless darkness, as if something monstrous might emerge at any moment and devour her whole.

Layla couldn't take it anymore. She started pounding on the door, begging, "Charles, let me out. I'm sorry. I was wrong. It's all my fault. Please, let me out."

She didn't know how long she'd been shouting, but her voice was completely hoarse. Still, she didn't dare stop.

In the pitch-black silence, with nothing but the emptiness around her, Layla felt like she was about to lose her mind.

Her hands went numb from pounding, and her calf felt like it was rotting away, the pain gnawing at her bones.

Big tears rolled down her cheeks. Was she going to die here?

Suddenly, a sliver of light shone through the crack in the door.

Layla jolted, quickly calling out, "Charles, is that you? Are you here to let me out?"

"Trying to get out?" Olivia laughed loudly. "No need for you to come out."

Layla had no clue what Olivia was up to, but Olivia's words sent chills down her spine.

In the darkness, suddenly, Layla felt something soft, wet, and with antennae brush against her hand.

Layla let out a scream and sprang to her feet.

Then, something slithered up her shoe and wriggled into her pant leg. It was centipedes.

Layla shrieked like a lunatic, desperately smacking at her leg to get the centipede off.

After a whole night, her calf was a mess of blisters, and in some spots, the skin had been scalded right off, leaving raw, bloody flesh exposed to the air.

Every slap against her leg was pure agony, like she was being tortured alive.

She couldn't care less about the mind-numbing pain. She kept slapping at her leg, but there were way too many centipedes.

Some were crushed right on her skin, oozing out a sticky, revolting mess. Others kept wriggling up her leg, and a few bit into her exposed flesh, each bite sharp as a needle.

The thought of countless centipedes crawling all over her body pushed Layla over the edge. "Help! Somebody help me. Charles, help. Mom, Dad, please, help me."

Layla thought she was going to die.

She couldn't remember when she finally blacked out.

When she came to, she found herself in her own warm bed.