They say friends always need each other, but what if needing isn't enough?

Layla sat on her bed, her phone resting in her hand, her mind racing with doubt and fear. What Victoria had asked of her was no small favor. She didn't want to get herself tangled up in rich people's problems, especially problems that could ruin someone's life. The thought of being caught by Victoria's parents or worse, the groom himself, made her stomach twist.

But the money... forty thousand dollars.

That was more than enough to bail her father out of prison. More than enough to give them both a fresh start.

Her heart and mind fought each other, but in the end, her need was stronger than her fear. She picked up her phone and dialed Victoria's number.

The call barely rang before Victoria picked up, her voice full of hope.

"Have you given it a thought?" she asked, sounding desperate.

Layla hesitated, then asked the one question that really mattered.

"Are you really going to pay me?"

"Yes! Of course I will," Victoria answered right away.

Layla let out a small laugh, though it wasn't a happy one. "Are you sure this will even work? What if you get caught? What if they catch me? Your dad might just shoot me on the spot."

She tried to joke, but deep down, she meant every word.

"You'll figure it out, Layla. I know you've got plenty of ideas. Please, Layla, I need this. I promise, I'll pay you. I swear," Victoria begged. She and her secret boyfriend had already made a plan to meet outside the wedding venue and run away together. They were planning to elope.

Layla went silent for a long moment, her thoughts spinning.

"Hello? Layla? Are you still there? Are you doing this or not?" Victoria asked, her voice sharp with panic.

Layla sighed, finally making her choice.

"Alright, alright. Okay. I'll do it. But how are we even going to pull this off?"

"The wedding's in five days," Victoria said. "I'll give you a guest pass, so no one will get suspicious."

They talked a little more, setting the basics of the plan. When the call ended, Layla dropped her phone and slumped into the couch, her mind still buzzing. Victoria was serious, she wasn't the type to joke about money or love. Layla trusted her. Besides, the money could change her life and her father's too.

That night, Layla lay awake, thinking. Every idea that came to her felt too risky or too weak. Until one thought hit her, clear as day.

She could pretend to be pregnant with the groom's child.

It was bold. Messy. Wild. But it was the kind of drama that could ruin a wedding in seconds. She had never met Julian Bennett, the groom, but that was the beauty of the plan....the surprise would confuse him, and in that moment of shock, she could twist the whole story.

All she needed was confidence. And guts.

The day before the wedding, Victoria called her again. They went over the plan one last time, their voices low and careful.

"When it's done, take a taxi to Doe's River, outside the city. I'll be waiting there with the money," Victoria said softly.

"Alright. Okay," Layla replied.

Victoria hung up, leaving Layla alone with her thoughts once more. She still felt scared, but the thought of forty thousand dollars gave her strength. She pushed the fear aside and focused on the good. She would make this work, no matter what.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The day of the wedding finally arrived.

Layla stood in front of her small mirror, getting ready for her role. She pulled on a short blonde wig, completely covering her long dark hair. She used heavy makeup to hide her natural features. The final touch was a tight, body-hugging dress that shaped her figure perfectly, drawing attention to her fair skin.

She barely recognized herself.

Her phone buzzed. It was Victoria.

"Are you ready?" Victoria whispered, her voice soft so no one would overhear. "I'm about to walk down the aisle, Layla. Please don't mess this up. If I actually get married today... I swear I'll hate you forever."

Layla smirked. "You're paying me, remember? No way I'm letting that happen."

"I trust you, Layla. Please, do a good job," Victoria whispered one last time.

"Alright, hang up before someone catches you," Layla said. The line went dead.

Layla stared at herself in the mirror one last time. The wig, the makeup - it all made her feel like someone else.

She took a deep breath and whispered to her reflection,

"Let's do this. Let's stop that wedding, baby."

Layla said to herself as She blew a quick kiss to her reflection, picked up her bag, and stepped out of the apartment to get to her side gig of the day...

Layla locked the door to her tiny apartment, her heart pounding harder with each step she took. She flagged down a taxi and gave the driver the address to the church, clutching her small purse tightly in her lap the entire ride. Her nerves buzzed with both fear and determination.

Thanks to Victoria, she had a legitimate invitation in hand, being her best friend had its perks, especially today.

When Layla finally arrived at the church, the sight of the grand, elegant decorations almost took her breath away. The place was like something out of a fairytale, white roses and silk ribbons wrapped every corner, crystal chandeliers sparkled above the pews, and a soft classical tune drifted through the air. It was clear that no expense had been spared.

"So much money for a wedding that's not even built on love," Layla thought to herself with a small, bitter smile.

She quietly walked down the aisle and took a seat at the very last pew, choosing the perfect spot where she could watch everything unfold without drawing attention. She adjusted her blonde wig slightly, her hands a little shaky, and tried to blend in as just another guest.

It wasn't long before the ceremony began. Soft whispers faded as the guests turned toward the aisle, and the bride -Victoria- entered, dressed in a breathtaking white gown. Layla watched her closely. Even though Victoria kept her expression calm and even wore a practiced smile, Layla could tell. Behind those painted lips and pretty face, her best friend was dreading every second of this.

Then Layla's eyes shifted to the groom standing at the altar.

"Wow, he's really handsome," she caught herself thinking. His sharp jawline, dark hair, and perfectly tailored suit made him look like the kind of man women dreamed about. In fact, Layla found him more attractive than Victoria's secret lover, Oliver. She couldn't help but wonder, was love really worth this much risk?

But then again, love wasn't about looks. It was about feelings. And Victoria's heart belonged to someone else.

As Layla sat there deep in thought, a voice suddenly pulled her back to reality.

"Miss, why on earth are you wearing black?" an elderly woman seated beside her asked, frowning in disapproval. "This is a wedding, not a funeral."

Layla held back the urge to roll her eyes.

"Maybe a wedding shouldn't be celebrated if the bride isn't truly in love," Layla replied softly, her voice calm but heavy with meaning.

The old woman gasped, turning her head sharply toward Layla with surprise. "Are you even invited to this wedding?" she asked, her voice sharp but laced with curiosity. "Why so bitter, dear?"

Layla let out a dry chuckle, leaning back slightly in her seat. "I ate something bitter for lunch," she replied with a sarcastic smile.

The old lady blinked at her, confused, but before she could fire off another question, Layla leaned in and added, "Also, why are you so noisy, Grandma?"

Layla stood up and dusted off her dress, flashing the woman a sweet but sharp smile. "Sorry, I didn't know there was a dress code. I'm not part of the wedding entourage, just a guest. Now, if you'll excuse me... I have something important to do. Enjoy the show."

Without waiting for a response, Layla walked away, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she headed straight toward the front. Every step made her pulse quicken. Her hands were slightly damp with sweat, but she clenched them into fists, steadying her courage.

As she moved closer, she could hear the priest's voice echo through the church, solemn and calm.

"Do you, the bride, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband..."

Before the priest could finish the sentence, Layla raised her voice, sharp and clear.

"I don't accept!" she shouted.

The entire church froze. The room, once filled with music and whispered excitement, fell silent. Heads turned, eyes wide with shock, as every single person tried to figure out who had just interrupted the ceremony.

Layla stood tall, her voice even louder this time.

"Stop the wedding!"

The silence deepened, and all eyes locked on her. Victoria stared at her, wide-eyed, a mix of shock and silent hope glimmering behind her carefully painted face. The groom's expression twisted into pure confusion, clearly having no clue who Layla was or why she had just thrown the ceremony into chaos.

Layla stood her ground, her heart pounding but her voice steady as ever.

"I said stop the wedding. Everyone."

"Stop the wedding!" Layla's voice rang out, steady and strong, even though deep down her heart was racing. She masked her nerves behind the weight of her words, holding her chin high as all eyes in the grand church turned toward her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Mr. Whitmore, Victoria's father, rising slowly from his seat. His face was twisted with confusion, his brows furrowing so tightly they almost touched. His steps were steady but sharp as he made his way toward her, joined by a couple she could only assume were the groom's parents, judging by the matching expressions of shock and concern on their faces.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you?" Mr. Whitmore demanded, his voice loud and laced with sharp anger. His whole face tightened, his jaw clenched, and his eyes burned into her, expecting an answer.

Layla met his gaze calmly and, after a short breath, lifted her hand and pointed straight at the groom. Her other hand rested gently on her stomach, adding weight to her words.

"That man," she said clearly, "he's the father of the child I'm carrying."

Gasps echoed across the room. The groom's face paled instantly, his expression tightening as if the words had knocked the air right out of his chest. His wide, bewildered eyes searched Layla's face, struggling to process what she'd just declared.

"What?" he blurted, his voice hoarse with confusion.

Layla took a slow step forward, gently patting her still-flat stomach as if cradling a secret life. "Yes. Just like I said, I'm pregnant. With your child."

She locked eyes with him, her gaze unwavering. "Maybe you don't remember, but it happened. One night, in a bar. Just once. But once was all it took."

She said the words with so much confidence, so much practiced emotion, that even she almost believed them. Inside, her heart drummed with nerves, but she pressed on, giving the performance of a lifetime.

"I was devastated when I found out you were getting married," Layla continued, her voice softening just enough to sound wounded. "What about me? What happens to me and our child? You can't just sleep with someone, toss them aside, and move on with your life like nothing ever happened."

She gestured with her hand, her fingers trembling slightly to match the heartbreak in her voice. "No, I won't let that happen."

Her eyes glistened as she stared him down. "What about me, huh? And what about our unborn child?" she asked, her voice cracking at the edges, pushing the emotion further.

The groom took a step back, his face tight with panic, his hands raised slightly like he needed space to breathe. "Who... who are you?" he stammered, completely rattled. His mind raced, grasping for any memory of her - but it came up blank.

"What are you saying?" he mumbled, struggling to find the right words. "I don't even recall ever meeting you. I don't know you."

Layla let a single tear slip down her cheek - crocodile tears, but convincing ones. She made sure the pain in her eyes looked deep and genuine.

"You don't remember me?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "How could you forget? You used me, left me, and now you're marrying someone else like I never even existed."

She turned, facing the shocked crowd that filled the church pews, their faces a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

"That man," she pointed once more at the groom, her voice louder now, "is the father of my unborn child. If this wedding goes on, it's not just me who'll suffer, my child will suffer too. And so will the bride."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she painted the perfect picture of a heartbroken woman.

"She'll never be enough for him," Layla whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Not when he can so easily use one woman and promise the world to another."

The groom's jaw tightened, his hands slowly balling into fists at his sides. His entire body stiffened, the quiet signs of rising anger barely hidden beneath his wedding suit. He took a step toward her, deliberate and controlled, his mind scrambling for a way to untangle this mess.

His family stood behind him, confusion written all over their faces as they whispered frantically to one another.

Stopping just in front of her, the groom squared his shoulders and stared Layla down.

"Alright then," he said coldly. "If you're telling the truth... what's my name?"

A smug, confident smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was sure she wouldn't know... after all, this had to be some mistake, some desperate stunt.

But Layla didn't flinch. Her lips curled into a soft, steady smile.

"You introduced yourself as Logan Maxwell," she answered smoothly, without a second's hesitation.

The groom's face twitched. His eyes widened as the name hit him like a slap, the disbelief clear as day on his face.

"What?" he muttered, nearly stumbling over the single word.

"That's not my..." he started, but Layla cut him off sharply.

"Don't you dare try to deny it." Her voice was sharp as a whip. She held his gaze like a mother scolding a child. "You might've lied about your name, but your face... I'll never forget your face."

She placed a hand to her forehead dramatically, feigning the perfect mix of anger and heartbreak. "Logan Maxwell, or Leo, or whatever name you're going by these days."

Her voice softened, almost dreamy, as she pressed on, weaving the perfect lie. "I remember your face from that night... that wonderful, beautiful, sinful night."

She could see it, the cracks spreading across his confidence, the way doubt flickered in his eyes. The more she spoke, the deeper it sank in, and she knew it. She was winning.

"Please," the groom said at last, his voice strained as he tried to anchor himself, "stop this nonsense."

"Oh, so now you're going to lie and pretend you're not the father?" Layla raised her voice, letting the fire of betrayal fill every word. "You got me pregnant, dumped me, and now you're just walking down the aisle like nothing happened."

She shook her head, letting her voice rise with anger. "You're a jerk. A cheat. A liar."

And before another word could be spoken, Layla raised her hand and slapped him -hard- across the face. The sound echoed through the church, leaving the groom staggered and silent.

Even Victoria, the bride, stood frozen shocked..