Somewhere between Silas boldly announcing his marriage to Avery and the stunned applause that followed, Laila had already stormed out of the venue, heels clicking furiously against the marble as she disappeared into the night, seething with rage.
Back at her home—a lavish but cold modern mansion, she entered the house with fury all over her face. The house, though grand on the outside with its tall glass windows and pristine white walls, felt more like a museum than a home. Cold marble floors, tall ceilings that echoed too much silence, and expensive furniture that looked more for display than comfort. Art pieces, minimalist and emotionless, hung on the walls—soulless just like the emptiness clawing inside her chest.
The moment she stepped into the tastefully lit living room, she screamed—a primal sound that echoed off the high ceiling and crystal chandelier above. Her voice cracked with fury, but it wasn't enough. She grabbed a vase—an antique Murano glass piece from city V, deep cobalt blue with golden floral etching—and hurled it against the wall.
CRASH!
The vase exploded into shimmering fragments, glittering like anger in physical form.
"Ahhh... I hate her!!" she screeched, her voice raw.
The noise helped—briefly. But then her memory betrayed her again, replaying the image of Silas, arms wrapped around Avery like she was the most precious thing in the world. That possessive look in his eyes.
"NO!" she shrieked again and swept her hand across the shelf, knocking down porcelain figurines, scattering their delicate limbs across the floor.
"Oh how I wish I could snatch that smile off your face, Avery Vale!!"
She stormed across the hall and picked up another vase, this one taller, with an ivory glaze and delicate cherry blossom pattern. She threw it down with force, the shattering sound like thunder, echoing off the polished walls.
Shaking, she dropped to her knees, grabbing fistfuls of her own hair, breathing heavy, eyes wide and glassy. She sat in the middle of the chaos she had created, surrounded by shards of glass and splinters of fury.
"Why do you always end up getting everything in the end? Why!?"
Her voice cracked again, this time breaking into sobs that were quickly swallowed by fresh anger.
"First—because of your mother—I lost my father. And when I finally thought I'd found happiness, when everyone told me I was adopted by a rich man, when I believed life was finally going to change…"
She let out a bitter laugh, like it tasted like acid.
"You appeared. You, with your tear-streaked cheeks and trembling voice, running into my new home and hugging my new father—crying like the world had ended."
Her voice turned mocking, venom-laced.
"And that man—he dropped everything for you. He didn't even glance at me. Just… handed me off to the maids like I was some inconvenient package! While he held you, comforted you."
Her hands trembled as she reached for a crystal tray and flung it across the room without even looking.
"Oh, how much I hated you in that moment," she growled. "That was the day I decided. I had to escape this pity-drenched life. I had to take back what should've been mine."
She got up shakily, her long curls in disarray, her lipstick smeared into the corners of her mouth like a bad joke. Her once-flawless makeup now melted from heat and anger.
"Every damn day, it was—'Avery's adopted sister' this, 'Avery's sister' that. In school, in society—people always looked at me like I was your shadow, your charity case."
She spat the words out like they were poison on her tongue.
"They said I was lucky. LUCKY!? To be adopted into a billionaire's home—where I was never a daughter, just a reminder of what I could never be!"
Her gaze swept the pristine white-and-gold interiors, the cold gray staircase that spiraled above her like a twisted spine, the glittering chandelier above her head.
"And now, while you get to inherit everything, I get a little company and this—this shabby mansion with its pretty but empty walls, its quiet halls, and people who call me 'Miss Laila' but look away when I pass!"
Her voice dropped, trembling, bitter. "No. This is not what I deserve. This is not enough."
Her eyes sharpened with the dangerous gleam of obsession.
"I want everything you have. Your name. Your legacy. Your friends. Your father. Everything!"
A cruel smile stretched across her lips.
"Just like you took your father away from me that day... I want to take everything from you. Piece by piece."
She looked down at her trembling hands, cut from gripping the broken edges of a vase she hadn't realized she'd picked up again.
"I was so close. So close to getting what I wanted. Cassian was going to give me status, power, everything. I would've had them all! And then you—you—you ruined everything again! Like always!"
She stood up, shaking, her designer gown torn near the hem from kneeling among the shards. She didn't care. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, her eyes wild.
"I will do anything to destroy you, Avery. Anything. Don't think for a second that tonight was your victory. This is not the end."
She let out a twisted laugh—low, guttural, maddened.But it cut off midway.
The front door creaked open with a slow, eerie groan, and Cassian stumbled inside, his once-polished suit torn in places, streaked with dirt and blood. His face, once radiant with smug confidence at the start of the engagement party, was now a mess of bruises.
Laila spun around, startled, only to watch him sprint through the vast hall—clumsily, desperately—and wrap his arms around her like a drowning man clinging to a raft.
"Laila! Why did you leave me alone? Look what they did to me!" he cried, voice trembling. "Everything was going according to plan, so what happened now?! What—what went wrong!?"
Laila blinked, stunned for a second, before roughly pushing him away, breaking his suffocating hold.
"Wait—didn't Silas's men take you with them? How are you here?" she demanded, eyes narrowed in disbelief.
Cassian panted as he looked at her, as if seeing his salvation in her furious face. "Baby, you don't know what they did to me! They dragged me into a van, beat the hell out of me, and then just… just dumped me on the side of the road like trash!" he cried, his voice cracking. "But I came straight to you. I knew you'd be worried—I knew you'd care—"
His words cut short when Laila shoved him back again, harder this time.
"You what?! You came here right after they dumped you?!" she hissed, eyes wide in horror. "Are you out of your damn mind?! What if they followed you? What if they find out you came straight here—to me?!"
Cassian blinked, stunned at her lack of concern. "But… baby, I'm injured. Don't you care? Look at me!" he said, spreading his arms like a tragic figure, expecting her to rush to his side.
But Laila's expression didn't soften. If anything, it turned colder, sharper.
"I don't care what they did to you!" she snapped. "Do you even comprehend what you've risked? If they find out about us, if they uncover I was with you all this time everything will be ruined.
Cassian's face twisted into a mixture of confusion and hurt. "You… don't care about me?" he said slowly, like the words were foreign to his ears. "After everything I did for you? After the humiliation I just went through? All the embarrassment I suffered for you?"
Laila scoffed, tossing her head with contempt. "What embarrassment? Don't try to act like a martyr, Cassian. You were never helping me out of love. You're not some noble fool—you're a money-hungry dog! Admit it!"
The moment the words left her mouth, the air in the room changed. It was as if even the silence held its breath.
Cassian's eyes darkened, the false charm vanishing in an instant. He took a slow step toward her, and Laila instinctively backed away, her heels crunching over the scattered shards of broken glass.
"W-What are you doing, Cassian?!" she stammered, panic creeping into her voice. "Get a hold of yourself and leave my house right now!"
But he didn't stop.
In one swift motion, he grabbed her jaw, fingers pressing into her skin with painful force, his face inches from hers. His breath reeked of blood and anger, and his eyes were bloodshot—wild, unhinged.
"Just because I've been nice to you," he said in a low, menacing tone, "doesn't mean you get to trample me like some street rat. You better watch your mouth in front of me."
His voice was quiet—but the rage in it was volcanic.
Laila's heart pounded in her ears. She shoved him away with all the strength she had, her voice breaking with fury and fear. "What are you doing?! Have you lost your damn mind?!"
But Cassian didn't answer.
He turned to the sleek side table beside them, kicked it hard, and sent it toppling across the marble floor. It crashed with a deafening bang, wood splintering as it slammed into a nearby wall.
The shattered glass from the vases crunched louder beneath his shoes now.
"You think you're better than me?" he growled. "You think you can talk down to me just because Avery left me and she they still don't know about your intentions?"
His voice rose, sharp and bitter. "You better remember who helped you plot everything—who played puppet for your schemes—who sacrificed his public image for your revenge!"
Laila stared at him, hands trembling.
"I should have known," he said with a twisted smirk. "You're a hartless woman, Cold, calculating, and quick to discard when you think you've outgrown your ally."
"Cassian…" Laila warned, her voice a trembling whisper.
But he just laughed bitterly and walked toward the front door.
"You keep your voice low around me from now on, Laila. Or I swear, this little kingdom you're so proud of?" He waved around the opulent, chaotic hall, littered with broken glass and shattered dreams. "I'll make sure even this gets taken away from you."
And then, without sparing her another glance, he slammed the door behind him.
Laila stood frozen, her chest heaving, the weight of everything crashing down over her shoulders like a tidal wave.
Just as the echo of the door faded into silence, she screamed, the sound filled with raw anger and humiliation.
"I'm not afraid of your EMPTY THREATS, CASSIAN!!" she howled at the door, her voice cracking into rage.