Layla's pov

I couldn’t see her face, as her back was turned, and he was ramming into her from behind like a damn animal. She moaned loudly with every thrust, bent over the living room couch.

Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, and Ryan had one hand holding her panties aside to give himself easier access.

“Fuck, Ryan! Hit the spot harder,” the woman screamed like it was the highlight of her week, using her hand to rub her clit as he pounded into her.

“Chill, baby. We’re getting there gradually,” Ryan groaned, his voice raw with pleasure.

Could today get any worse?

I took a step back, and my foot hit the edge of the coffee table. The small ceramic flower pot I’d bought to brighten up his cold-ass apartment tumbled to the floor and shattered with a sharp crack.

They jumped apart at the sound, scrambling to cover themselves. The woman turned first, and in less than a second, her expression shifted from shock to guilt.

My mouth went dry. My nails bit into my palms, the only thing keeping me grounded.

Brielle.

Ryan’s so-called childhood friend. The same Brielle I’d cried to last week when Ryan started acting weird. The one who told me to stop overthinking things, that it was just work stress. That everything was fine.

I stared at them, too stunned to feel anything yet. My brain was trying to process what I’d just walked in on, but the pieces didn’t fit. I blinked hard, hoping it was a nightmare. That I’d wake up.

But I didn’t.

Who would’ve thought the perfect Brielle was the one screwing my fiancé?

The irony stung like acid. If I wasn’t so broken, I might’ve laughed. I’d wasted three damn years of my life on a man who couldn’t keep his cock in his pants.

“Lay… Layla,” Ryan stammered, clearly scrambling to sound composed. “I didn’t expect you home this early.”

I shook my head slowly. I didn’t even know what part to focus on. What I just witnessed, or the dumbass excuse that just came out of his mouth.

Did he seriously feel no shame?

“Your actions speak for themselves,” I said flatly. “Coming home to this? So thoughtful of you.”

“Layla, it’s not what it looks like—”

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my lips. “Oh, good. Then by all means, tell me what it is.”

I looked around.the room. The wine glasses, the soft music, the candles still flickering, Brielle’s bag on the chair, Ryan’s shirt half untucked like he’d been lounging there for hours.

How long had this been going on? Weeks? Months? Longer?

Did he ever love me?

“I got fired today,” I said quietly, my eyes pinned to his. “I walked out of that office with nothing. No paycheck. No goodbye. Just because I refused to sleep with my boss.”

Ryan swallowed. “I didn’t know—”

“Of course, you didn’t,” I snapped. “You didn’t ask. You didn’t call. You were too busy screwing your ‘childhood friend.’” I made air quotes with my fingers, not that either of them deserved a performance.

The room went silent. Brielle opened her mouth like she had something to say, but the glare I sent her way shut her up fast.

“I needed someone today,” I said, my voice cracking. “I told myself I did the right thing. That my fiancé would be proud of me. But this—” I gestured to them. “And I come home to this.”

“You didn’t even try to hide it,” I whispered. “That’s the worst part.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Ryan muttered, stepping toward me.

“Don’t.” I said sharply. “Don’t insult me by pretending this was a mistake.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “You’re overreacting. This isn’t as big as you think.”

My eyes widened.

“I’m overreacting?” My voice rose. “Ryan, I just walked in on you fucking Brielle and I’m the one who’s overreacting?”

“I—this was a mistake. A one-time thing—”

“A mistake?” I repeated. “You call this a one-time thing?” I waved at the wine, the lights, the damn playlist. “You went through all this for one quick fuck?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he muttered, guilt finally creeping into his expression.

I squared my shoulders. “You didn’t mean to stop yourself either. And to think, I lost my job today because I refused to cheat on you.”

My eyes stung, but I refused to let tears fall, especially not in front of them. They didn’t deserve that kind of vulnerability from me.

“Layla…”

I held up my hand to silence him and turned to Brielle.

She stared straight at me, no trace of regret. A faint smirk played on her lips. Like this had been some game, and she’d won.

“You must feel proud of yourself,” I said coldly. “You finally get him all to yourself.”

Brielle tilted her head and shrugged lazily. “Hmm. Not really.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t actually want him,” she said, like it was nothing. “Not the way you did.”

I scoffed. “Then what was the point of all this? Why go through all this?”

“You took him too seriously,” she replied, her voice bored now. “Always acting like he was yours. Someone had to remind you he wasn’t.”

She said it like I was the problem.

“I just didn’t expect you to come home today,” she added, slightly annoyed.

I clenched my jaw. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re naive,” she said simply. “You thought loyalty meant something to people like him. Or me.”

It hit me all at once. Those late-night calls they shared, Ryan’s distance, Brielle’s comforting lies about him being stressed from work. It had all been part of it.

And now, she was throwing it in my face.

“If it makes you feel better,” she added with venom, “you’re not even worth him.”

I just nodded. That was all I needed to hear. I turned away and bent to grab my bag from the floor, slinging it over my shoulder with the calmness I didn’t even know I had left.

“I’ll come back for the rest of my things when I’m not seeing red,” I said, voice low but final.

Ryan stepped forward. “Layla, please. Don’t leave like this. Let’s talk—”

“No.” I stepped back. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to stand here, breathing the same air with you.”

“I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen—”

“Save it.” I cut him off. “I don’t need your pathetic apology. I’m done.”

“Layla,” Brielle called after me, her voice losing its smugness. “You’re seriously walking away because of him?”

I turned at the door, eyebrows raised. “Are you high? I’m walking away because of both of you. You lied to me. Smiled in my face. And ruined what little faith I had left in people.”

“God, you’re dramatic.”

I stepped back inside for just one second, my eyes sharp and steady now. “No, sweetheart. I’m clear. Crystal clear. You and Ryan? You deserve each other.”

It was funny, in a fucked-up way—how life just rips the ground right out from under you. One moment, I was engaged and planning a future. The next? I was unemployed and humiliated, betrayed by the two people I trusted the most.

Hot tears slipped down my cheeks as I dragged my feet along the sidewalk. I had no one to call right now. My best friend was out of town for a work seminar and I didn’t want to bother her. My sister was out of the country. And my useless fiancé—well, he was upstairs screwing his “childhood friend.”

Bastards.

Ryan cost me the only job I had, and now he got to walk away like none of it mattered. Like I was nothing.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I wasn’t going to go home and cry into my pillow like some pathetic woman from a sad rom-com. I needed a distraction.

If I couldn’t fix anything, I could at least forget everything for one night.

I didn’t want comfort. I wanted chaos. Noise, and maybe a strong drink to keep me sane. A public pub was the only place I figured I could get it.

Chapter 3 Back to my old life.

Asher's POV

“Mr. Sterling, you’ve got that investor meeting in twenty minutes,” Paul, my assistant, reminded me as I glanced through the figures on my desk.

“I know,” I said, not looking up. “Has Bennett confirmed if he’s bringing his legal team?”

“Yes, sir. They informed us yesterday that they were coming along with him today. And they want equity adjusted to forty percent.”

I dropped the pen. “How can he demand forty percent for ten percent of the work? They’re out of their minds. That's not happening.”

“They’re still coming,” he said.

“Then let them hear it from me.”

I got up, buttoned my jacket, and walked toward the conference room. My phone buzzed in my pocket but I ignored it. My sister wouldn’t stop hounding me about the family dinner my family was hosting and I had promised I would be present.

The dinner was in about two weeks so why was she disturbing me. But I knew better than anyone that if she didn't do these I would not attend. I never did especially after Melina's death. I wasn't a big fan of gatherings but Melina had always been one to drag me along. She always enjoyed socializing.

I walked into the glass-walled room where my team was already seated, and across from them, Peter Bennett, the investor, had that smug grin he always wore. The same one that made me want to walk out each time we meet.

“Asher,” he said, rising for a handshake I didn’t want to give. “Glad you could make time.”

“I always make time for bad deals,” I replied and took my seat.

He chuckled. “No need to be hostile. This is business.”

“Then don’t ask for something that sounds like a robbery.”

My legal advisor gave me a warning look, but I ignored him. I wasn’t in the mood to sugarcoat anything. I had already given them a fair offer. Bennett just wanted more control, and I wasn’t about to hand it over.

The meeting dragged longer than it should have. Peter Bennett kept talking in circles, arguing over the percentage of shares he wanted to own in the proposed merger which frustrated me. I wanted to shut him but kept quiet because he was the best choice among the investors I have seen around.

By the time we wrapped, my jaw was tight. I walked out of the boardroom, ignoring Paul who tried to brief me on my next call. I waved him off. My head was not in it anymore.

I didn’t speak to anyone. I just walked toward the elevator, loosening my tie. When I got into the car, Jacob, my driver nodded at me in the rearview mirror.

“Home, sir?” he asked.

“No. Just drive,” I muttered, sliding into the backseat. “I’ll let you know.”

The door shut behind me and I sank into the seat, tugging at the top button of my shirt. I stared out of the tinted window as the city blurred past.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the date. It had been two years already since Melina died. Her name still sat at the top of my emergency contact list. I thought I would’ve felt something by now but all I can do is still the void she left.

I hadn’t touched another woman since then. I had tried to move on once last year. It was a blind date, Bruce, a business associate insisted on. I left halfway through the dinner. Paid the bill and walked out. I can't even remember the woman’s name.

A lot of women had flirted with me. I had to get the security to throw one out the other day. I don't know how but she sneaked into my office when I wasn't there. Her pussy was shiny, glittering at me the moment I opened the door. She laid on the sofa in my office almost naked.

I genuinely wonder what motivated these women to throw themselves at men shamelessly. Oh, I forgot. Shame is now a luxury.

None of the ladies I have met felt like Melina. She was everything I never asked for but needed. She made me better. She was there before I made my first million, before the company went global, before the title of billionaire became something I was addressed with.

When she got sick, I didn’t believe it at first. I kept thinking we’d buy more time. I flew in several doctors to get her help. She still died. Just like that.

I never recovered. Not really.

Everyone at the company stopped mentioning her after the first year. Even my closest staff avoided saying her name. Maybe they thought I’d fall apart. Or maybe they figured I already had.

I looked at my reflection in the glass and didn’t recognize the man looking back.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Sir?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“Not in the mood for small talk,” I said, my voice low. “Keep driving.”

“Yes, sir

We passed a string of restaurants, then the downtown strip. Bright lights flashed against the car window. Music leaked into the streets from plain doorways.

People who had nowhere to be tomorrow.

I should’ve told Jacob to take me home but I didn't want to go back to the silent space that reminded me so much about my late wife with a pounding head.

Instead, I found myself saying, “Pull over.”

He parked without a word.

I stepped out before I could change my mind. The air outside was cooler than expected. I slipped my hands into my pockets and walked toward the place where I could drown my pain.

The sign outside read: CRIMSON ROOM. A perfect name for temptation’s hideout.

I hadn’t been in one in over a decade. Not since before Melina. That life had ended with her.

Inside, the lights were low and the music loud. Neon flickered across moving bodies, dollar bills, and tired men pretending they weren’t alone.

I found the bar and ordered a whiskey. No ice. I just wanted to feel the burn.

I took a seat by the bar top. Needing quiet inside my own head even if the place around me was loud. Suddenly, the barstool beside me scraped across the floor. I turned slightly to see who drew it out.

My breath hitched in my throat. I was staring wide eyed at the lady who looked like a mini version of Melina. She wore a dress that left very little to imagination. Her blonde hair was flowy cascading down her, almost tempting me to feel the strands. My first glance at her made my cock throb in my pants.

Something I hadn't felt voluntarily since Melina died.

She looked very innocent to be in a place like this. There was mascara smudged under red, swollen eyes. Probably from crying. Her vibe screamed recklessness.

“Again,” she drawled, slamming her empty martini glass on the bar top.

“Did you come with someone?” the bartender asked, his eyes shamelessly dropping to her exposed tits.

Her behavior was funny to me but I could relate to her pain at the same time. She deserves to lighten up her mind.

She scoffed at the bartender. “Do I look like I need a chaperone?”

Before he could say another word, she turned to me, grabbed my half-finished whiskey without asking, and knocked it back.

Feisty? I loved her already.

Layla's POV

I scoffed. “Do I look like I need a chaperone?”

Who the hell was he to question my decision?

Before he could say another word, I turned to the man beside me, grabbed his half-finished whiskey without asking, and knocked it back. It burned more than the sugary crap I’d been drinking, still I welcomed the fire. Anything to smother the ache in my chest.

The man beside me just stared. But he didn’t say a word.

I tried to take another gulp, though the glass was already empty. I tilted it again, squinting like the drink might magically refill itself.

“What the hell is wrong with this cup?” I slurred. “Why’s the drink not coming out?”

The man gently took the glass from my hand. His touch sent an electric jolt up my spine.

“Hold on,” he said, his voice smooth and low. Then he turned to the bartender. “One shot of whiskey. For her.”

The bartender looked like he wanted to protest, however one scowl from the man shut him up. He poured the drink.

The bartender gave me a look, one eyebrow arched like he wasn’t sure what to do with me. I knew he’d seen worse in this place.

I looked like I didn’t belong there but who cares?

The drink was placed in front of me. I downed it without hesitation, the fire searing through me.

“Thanks,” I muttered, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. My lipstick smeared across the back of my hand even so I didn’t give a shit.

The loud music throbbed through my chest as I sat at the counter and kept an open tab for my drink, my eyes squinting against the neon lights and swirling haze.

I didn’t even remember the name of the place—just that it was the closest pub still open and loud enough to drown my thoughts.

I'd stopped at my apartment first, ripping off my work clothes and pulling on the skimpiest dress I owned. It clung to every inch of me, barely covering anything. It was the kind of dress that made men turn their heads to look at you except I didn’t care. I was done with the whole ‘modest in relationship’ thing.

The man beside me studied my face, his eyes fleeting to my tits occasionally. “Rough night?”

I gave a short, humorless laugh. “You could say that.”

I turned fully toward him. My eyes were glassy. “You know what’s funny?” I slurred. “I lost everything today. My job, my relationship, my sense of fucking dignity. And now… I’m here. In a goddamn public pub. Trying to forget.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Is it working?”

“Not yet,” I muttered bitterly.

He didn’t push further. Instead, he kept refilling my glass. “Then keep drinking,” he said calmly. “However pace yourself.”

I stared at him. He looked like someone I'd seen before. He had a face I would’ve remembered in another life. Late thirties? Maybe early forties. He was calm, composed, and too damn attractive for this place. His blue eyes lingered on my face a little too long.

His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of a tattoo on his chiseled abs. My eyes wandered on his body. He had the kind of confidence you couldn’t fake.

God, I will kill to have a man with this body.

His hand brushed my arm as he leaned in a little closer. His voice was low and unreadable. “You want to get out of here?”

I blinked at him, my vision swimming slightly from the whiskey.

My gaze drifted past him to the stage where two women danced around a pole, teasing some rich guy in a suit who looked half-drunk and fully obsessed.

The room spun a little. So did my heart.

“Yes,” I said suddenly, pushing off the stool, swaying as I stood.

“You sure you’re steady enough to walk?” he asked, grabbing my arm gently.

“Nope,” I grinned, my voice slurring. “Yet I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

“I could carry you.”

“And ruin the full drunk-girl experience?” I laughed, twirling a finger. “I want to feel the room spin.”

He chuckled softly. I didn’t care where we were going. I just wanted to feel something else different from the pain I've felt today.

I walked ahead of him staggering a little as I jumbled my way among the crowd. I turned around suddenly, almost hitting my head on his chest.

“Shit! I forgot my purse,” I muttered, turning back.

He was already two steps ahead of me, heading back to the bar. While I waited, some creep leaned in close. “You lost, baby?”

I took a quick glance at his overall look. He looked rough and drunk.

“Back off.” I kicked off a heel and pointed it at him like a knife.

He grumbled something and disappeared.

How could he mistake me for a cheap fuck? I wasn't dressed that badly. I pushed myself to a random seat, feeling the room swaying a little.

I don't know what was keeping that ‘hot’ man from retrieving my purse. Tying my heels strap, I heard the man's voice.

“Here. I’ve been looking for you.” He said, stretching my purse to me. I collected it from him and stood up from the chair.

As we walked, he kept glancing at me. There was something familiar in his eyes, like he was trying to place me. Maybe I reminded him of someone. Or maybe I just looked like a mess.

I could tell he liked what he saw, though. His gaze lingered on my face then dropped to my lips and exposed tits.

My hair was messy. My makeup was probably a disaster. Yet he was staring at me like I was the only thing worth looking at.

The downtown lights blurred in the distance as the cool night air bit at my skin immediately I stepped outside the pub. My foot caught the edge of a loose stone making me stumble slightly.

He caught me around the waist before I could fall, his hand firm and warm through the fabric of my thin dress.

The heat of his touch sent something sharp up my spine. The scent of sandalwood and citrus clung to his skin. It made my head swim in a different way.

My mind should’ve been screaming what are you doing?, but it wasn’t. Instead, Ryan and Brielle's fucking scene flashed in my mind.

Fucking hell! I should feel something other than this.

I looked up at him.

“You’re very hand…some, you know,” I said with a sloppy grin. I reached up, locked my arms around his neck, and yanked him down. My lips crushed against his like I needed him to erase Ryan’s name from my memory.