"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..

Everyone in the church gasped, their mouths falling open in utter shock at what Layla had just done.

"She slapped him!" people whispered, their voices low but sharp with disbelief.

Layla had delivered the slap with all the force of her frustration, and it showed. The groom staggered backward, his face frozen, a mixture of pain, shock, and humiliation washing over him all at once. His family, still stunned, rushed to his side, crowding around to check if he was alright, their concern as loud as their confusion.

But for Layla, this was her cue.

She glanced at Victoria, standing at the altar, her lips curling into the faintest, satisfied smile a smile hidden behind the perfect mask of an abandoned bride. Victoria's half-smirk told Layla exactly what she needed to know: the plan was working, and now was the perfect moment to slip away.

Taking full advantage of the chaos, Layla carefully backed out of the spotlight, moving toward the church doors like a shadow.. quiet, subtle, unnoticed. Just like that, she vanished from the scene, giving everyone the perfect picture of a heartbroken, betrayed, pregnant woman walking away from it all.

The second she stepped outside, her pace shifted from calm to quick, and then from quick to a full sprint. She half expected someone to shout or call for security, but the church doors remained shut behind her, and the city air felt like freedom.

Down the street, just past the iron gates, Layla caught sight of Victoria slipping into a sleek black car, one that had been waiting at the curb all along. Behind the wheel sat Oliver, Victoria's secret boyfriend, engine running and ready to go. Victoria slid into the passenger seat, the door clicking shut just as the car peeled away from the church.

Not wasting a second, Layla raised her hand and flagged down the first taxi that came into view. As the cab pulled up, she jumped inside and gave the driver the address of the place where she and Victoria had planned to meet.

"Please, driver be fast," she urged, her voice tight with urgency.

"Yes, ma'am," the driver replied, stepping harder on the gas as the taxi sped off.

Once settled in the back seat, Layla reached up and yanked off the blonde wig that had helped disguise her, letting her long dark hair tumble down over her shoulders. She dug into her small bag and pulled out a thin jacket and a worn baseball cap, tossing the wig back into the bag before slipping into her new look the perfect way to disappear into the crowd.

As the taxi rolled down the streets, Layla leaned back into the seat, her heart still racing, but a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

They met exactly where they'd planned: a quiet, secluded spot near Doe River. The water glimmered in the afternoon sun, peaceful and still  the perfect contrast to the storm they'd just stirred up.

Oliver stood waiting, leaning against his car as Victoria hurried over to him. The moment Layla arrived, Victoria rushed into her arms, hugging her tightly, her voice breathless with excitement.

"Thank you thank you so, so much, Layla," Victoria said, pulling back just enough to press a bundle of cash into Layla's hand. "Here - I'm giving you $45,000 instead of the $40,000 we agreed on. You were brilliant. Way more than I ever expected."

Layla's eyes lit up the moment the money touched her palm, a perfect mix of joy and relief washing over her. The extra cash was the icing on the cake, and deep down, she felt proud. She had pulled it off. Another side gig done, and done well.

Victoria turned back to Oliver, wrapping her arms around him, and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. They held each other for a moment before she glanced back at Layla, her eyes full of gratitude.

"I don't regret asking you for help. Honestly, you were amazing back there. But I still can't believe you actually slapped Julian!" Victoria half-laughed, half-scolded, shaking her head in disbelief. "That was so intense... I'm kinda worried about your soul now."

She grinned playfully, nudging Layla. "I mean, hitting someone inside the house of the Lord? That's wild."

Layla rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"My soul's been damned for a while now, Vic," she replied dryly. "And this wasn't help, it was business. You paid for a service, and I delivered."

"Alright, alright whatever you say," Victoria chuckled, shaking her head. "Still... thank you. Really."

She turned to Oliver, squeezing his hand. "Let's go, babe. We need to get moving before my father sends his men after us."

Victoria paused, glancing at Layla one last time, her expression shifting into something more serious.

"Be careful, okay? Julian's family might come looking for you, especially Julian Bennett himself. They were serious about this wedding, and so is my father. Don't let them find out who you really are."

Layla waved her hand dismissively, her voice cool and calm.

"Don't worry that's the whole point of the wig and the makeup. They won't find me."

Victoria nodded, though the worry still lingered in her eyes.

"Alright, you two get going now," Layla urged. "No point wasting all this money and effort if you get caught before you even start your new life."

As Oliver and Victoria turned to leave, Layla called out one last time.

"Oh... and Vic?"

Victoria glanced back over her shoulder.

"Maybe you should hurry up and get pregnant for Oliver. Might stop your father from breaking you two up again," Layla teased, flashing her a playful wink.

Victoria laughed, shaking her head, and waved back at her friend. "Thanks again, Layla."

And with that, the couple drove off, the future wide open in front of them.

Layla flagged another taxi and headed home, the money safely tucked away in her bag. When the cab finally dropped her off near her neighborhood, she felt lighter, free. She treated herself to a hamburger and an ice-cold soda from her favorite corner shop, a small reward for a job well done.

As she sank her teeth into the burger, the world felt right. She could finally pay for her father's bail. Finally start fresh, just like they'd always wanted. The thought warmed her heart more than the burger could.

But just as she neared her apartment, her steps slowed. She stopped cold.

A black van was parked outside her building. Its dark windows and engine idling sent a chill crawling down her spine.

Her brows furrowed. "What's going on?" she whispered under her breath.

Before she could move, the van's door swung open. Two masked men jumped out.

Her heart skipped a beat.

How did they find me...?

Oh my God... Layla thought, her heart beginning to pound wildly in her chest. Panic surged through her veins as she froze on the sidewalk, eyes glued to the black van and the two masked men stepping out of it.

Were they working for the groom?

How did they even find me?

Her mind was spinning, tangled with nervous thoughts that came faster than she could process them. She had done everything so perfectly-or so she thought. The disguise, the wig, the careful escape plan... it was all supposed to be foolproof.

But now, with two strangers closing in on her, it suddenly didn't feel so flawless anymore.

Victoria's warning echoed in her mind like a ghost:

"Be careful, Layla. Julian Bennett might come looking for you."

Layla had brushed it off with confidence back then, certain that no one-not even Julian-could possibly track her down. She hadn't used her real name, hadn't spoken too much, hadn't left any obvious trace behind. So how...?

As she stood there, frozen with indecision, her breathing grew shaky. Maybe I should just run away... hide somewhere and come back tomorrow, she thought desperately, her eyes darting for an escape route.

"How did they even figure out it was me?" she muttered under her breath, her voice weak and trembling.

She took one cautious step back... then another. Her fingers clenched tighter around the half-eaten burger she had treated herself to, until it slipped and fell from her hand, landing on the ground with a soft thud. It had gone cold, just like her blood.

The two men continued toward her, their movements calm but threatening. Their pace was steady, too steady, like they weren't in a hurry...like they knew she had nowhere to run.

"Wh-Who... who are you?" Layla called out, her voice breaking as she backed away further, her feet crunching on the gravel.

"Stay away from me! Why are you coming closer?" she asked, her tone rising, laced with fear.

But the men didn't answer. They didn't pause. They didn't even flinch.

They just kept walking.

Layla's chest tightened. Her body screamed at her to run, but her legs felt heavy, her thoughts scrambled. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when things were finally starting to look up.

Her eyes darted wildly, searching for anything any chance to outsmart them, even for a second.

And then she saw it.

A small, rusty bench across the road near a streetlamp. An idea flickered in her mind, and without thinking twice, she lifted her shaking hand and pointed toward it.

"L-Look!" she yelled suddenly, louder than she'd expected, her voice echoing through the quiet street. "Over there!"

The two men stopped, just for a split second, their heads turning to where she was pointing.

And that was all she needed.

With her heart in her throat, Layla spun on her heel and bolted, her shoes hitting the pavement hard as she sprinted away with everything she had. Her breath was fast and shallow, the cold air burning her lungs as she ran. She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she needed to be far away.

She rounded a corner blindly, her legs aching, and came to a sudden stop in front of Mrs. Brianna's house, her sweet old neighbor who always smelled like cinnamon.

But Layla didn't get far.

She collided with something...or someone.

The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she stumbled back slightly, her eyes flying up to see who it was.

It wasn't the masked men.

But it also wasn't someone she recognized right away.

The figure stood tall and still, half-shadowed by the porch light. Her breath came in hard pants as she looked up, trying to make sense of the stranger's face.

"Wh... Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, chest heaving as she stared at the figure standing in her way.