It had been two days since Layla was locked up in her room. She had even tried to escape through the window, but Rosalie warned her sternly never to leave the house again.

Layla realized what Rosalie was doing, trying to get Scarlet into their father’s good books while painting her in the worst light possible. And now that her father was in the hospital, this was Rosalie’s perfect opportunity. If Layla didn’t visit, her father would be heartbroken, and that was the last thing she ever wanted.

No. She wouldn’t let it happen.

She would escape, no matter what Rosalie said.

She planned to go straight to Mike’s house and ask for a ride. Mike had always been there for her, and she was certain he’d help.

With quiet precision, Layla slipped out the window and scaled the compound wall like a cat on the prowl. The guards at Mike’s residence opened the gate without hesitation, already used to seeing her. She was Mike’s girlfriend, after all.

But the moment she stepped into his house, her world collapsed.

“Oh yes, right there, babe. Don’t stop. You’re so good,” a woman’s moaning voice rang out from inside. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed with each word.

Layla froze.

The noise was coming from Mike’s room.

Her heart pounded. Her stomach churned. She walked toward the door slowly, like her body was moving on its own.

And then she saw them.

Mike, her Mike, was in bed with another woman, slamming into her with wild abandon. The girl was on all fours, clutching the bed sheets tightly while Mike grunted and panted above her.

Layla stood in the doorway, rooted in disbelief. Years of trust. Loyalty. Love. And this… was what she got.

The horror of the last few days didn’t compare to the pain flooding her chest now.

She had run from one nightmare only to fall straight into another.

Mike had been her light. Her constant. One of the few who had never judged her no matter what Rosalie said. She trusted him blindly. If anyone had told her he was cheating, she would’ve laughed it off.

But now she was witnessing it herself, raw, real, and live.

The illusion shattered.

And it shattered hard.

She could do nothing but stand there, trembling. Her breathing was ragged. She wanted to scream. To cry. To punch something.

“You like that, right?” Mike growled. “Say it.”

“Mmm, I do. You’re amazing. Don’t stop,” the girl moaned breathlessly, pushing back against him as he gripped her hips.

Layla’s gut twisted. Her stomach flipped.

She turned her face away, trying not to puke.

That voice. It was familiar.

Then came the final blow.

“How could you, Mike?” Layla’s voice cracked as she finally found the strength to speak. “I trusted you!”

Mike turned around sharply, sweat dripping from his brow. His jaw slackened in shock.

“Layla?”

His face looked like guilt and panic were waging war on it.

And then the girl sat up.

“Layla, what a surprise,” she said casually, rising from the bed with a sultry stretch.

Layla’s blood ran cold.

“Scarlet…”

Scarlet gave her a lazy smile and walked over to Mike, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey there.”

“You slept with my boyfriend?” Layla’s voice was almost a whisper.

“Correction,” Scarlet said smugly. “Ex. He’s mine now.” Layla’s legs nearly gave out.

She felt like screaming. Crying. Breaking something. But instead, she just turned and bolted out of the house.

Her lungs burned as she ran. She had no one now. Mike, her one safe space, had betrayed her. With her own sister. Everything in Layla’s life was a mess.

Except for Mike.

He had been her peace. He was handsome, rich, and respected. Everyone said he was too good for her. That he deserved someone better. But he stayed. Through every rumor. Every lie Rosalie spread. He stayed.

She had decided to give herself to him, completely, on her twenty-second birthday. That was the day she would give him everything. Her heart. Her body. Her soul.

But now?

Now, she felt like a fool. She didn’t go home. Not yet. She couldn’t face Rosalie or Scarlet. Not like this. Instead, she wandered into a dark alley, slumped against a wall, and cried like her soul was breaking apart.

Maybe Rosalie was right. She was the daughter of a mistress. A mistake. A burden. No one would ever love her. No one would ever choose her.

“I’m doomed,” she whispered bitterly.

Eventually, the tears dried. Her chest still ached, but her eyes were empty. Her hope, is gone. Then, she made a decision. If she was already broken, what did it matter anymore?

She stood up on unsteady feet, wiped her face, and walked toward the nearest bar. The neon lights blinked like a cruel joke in the dark street.

She walked inside, not caring what came next.

Music pounded from the speakers. People laughed, drank, and danced like nothing else mattered.

Layla moved to a corner, took a seat at the bar, and ordered the strongest drink they had.

If her dignity was all she had left… she might just lose that too tonight. Mike had taken her trust, her love, her future plans, and thrown them all into the fire.

Now Scarlet had his heart. Or his body, at least. Layla didn’t know which was worse. As the bartender slid her drink toward her, she stared down into the glass like it held answers. But all it reflected was her broken heart.

Her tears burned again, but she blinked them away. She lifted the glass. And she drank.

The bitter liquid hit her tongue like fire, and she gagged slightly, coughing as it burned down her throat. Her chest heaved with the unfamiliar heat spreading through her stomach. It was nothing like she imagined, there was no comfort in the drink, no numbing relief.

Just a raw sting, a reminder of everything she’d lost. But she took another sip anyway, hoping the ache in her heart would fade with each burning swallow. Her hands trembled as she gripped the glass tighter, her eyes filling again. She felt hollow like a cracked shell pretending to be whole. The alcohol didn’t erase the pain, it only sharpened it. But at least it gave her something else to feel.