Chapter 174
Samuel's eyes were bloodshot as he glared at Layla, who was teetering on the brink of asphyxiation. The love he had once felt for her, a love he had dived into with abandon, had transformed into an equivalent measure of hatred. A simple flex of his fingers could snuff out her life.
His grip on her neck tightened as he strode forward, pinning her against the wall. Layla's head collided with the wall, a wave of dizziness washing over her, her vision blurring. Her fingers moved instinctively, pushing against his grip in a desperate struggle for survival.
A pained whimper escaped her lips, forcing tears from her eyes. The hatred in his gaze was like a needle piercing her heart. His loathing was the source of her deepest torment. Life had become a grueling battle, and death seemed like a sweet release-especially if it came at his hands.
A single tear traced a path down Layla's cheek as she closed her eyes and ceased her resistance. Did she want to die? The realization fueled Samuel's rage, pushing it beyond control. He flung her onto the bed with a force that was unstoppable.
Layla's throat burned like fire. She coughed violently as she gasped for air. Before she could catch her breath, Samuel was straddling her, tearing at her clothes. Her struggles were weak, her pleas heartbreaking.
"Samuel, let go..." she whimpered.
His iron grip pinned her wrists to either side of her, his eyes fierce and predatory. "Let go? Stop playing the innocent! It's not like you haven't slept with me before." His face, looming over her, was menacing, filled with mockery and sneering sarcasm.
"Or do you want a drink first? Blame it all on the booze again?" he taunted.
Layla writhed beneath him, pushing vainly against his weight. "Please don't do this to me... I beg you... please..." she pleaded, her voice filled with panic.
"Samuel..." she sobbed.
But her reluctance only spurred him on. He was intent on claiming her forcefully, conquering her completely. Why should Nathan have her and not him, when he was her true man?
Damn it!
With that thought, Samuel's actions grew more violent. He lowered his head to viciously bite her lips until they bled, the taste of iron heavy in their mouths. He continued to assault her neck, ripping at her clothes.
"Don't..." Layla kicked and cried, but all her efforts to fight back were futile.
"Samuel... please..."
She shut her eyes, and in the darkness, fragmented images haunted her. Nathan overpowering her on the couch, kissing her passionately. In her dazed state, two women entered, whispering before lifting them onto the bed, stripping off her clothes...
"Samuel!" Layla's eyes snapped open, tears streaming down her face.
The taste of blood didn't stop Samuel, but her salty tears made him halt, his rage burning. He didn't want her like this. Furiously, he shoved her away, withdrew himself, and roared, "Get out!"
Clutching her torn neckline, Layla sat up, her hair in disarray. "I... I remembered something just now... Nathan and I..."
"Shut up! Don't let me hear that name from your lips again."
"It wasn't like that, in the room that day, it felt like someone came in, they were the ones who undressed us... I remember it seemed to be two women..." Layla clutched at his shirt, pleading urgently.
Samuel, however, ruthlessly shook off her hand, sneering coldly at her. "Is that some made-up story you've just come up with? You think by fabricating a couple of characters you can convince me that nothing happened between you?"
"I..." Layla was at a loss for words, not knowing how to prove herself. She was also unsure whether it had been reality or just her imagination conjuring a lie for self-deception.
"Get out of my room!"
He didn't believe her.
Maybe it was just a figment of her imagination, something to make her feel a bit better...
Crushed, Layla left the room in tears. The door shut behind her.
Slamming a bottle down, Samuel cast himself onto the couch in despair, lying on his back, his mind in turmoil. A bitter smirk curled the corners of his mouth.
Samuel, oh Samuel, you fancy yourself so tough, yet you're left in shambles over a woman.
Ridiculous.
Pulling out a cigarette, Samuel lit it, but after a single drag, he felt nauseous and couldn't continue, his mouth filling with a bitter taste.
Casting a glance at his cell phone, he frowned, picked it up, and dialed a number.
"How's the investigation coming along?"
"Still working on finding witnesses, reviewing security footage. We'll have answers soon. You know, having an American criminologist drop international cases and fly halfway around the world just to look into a hotel tryst? If word gets out, my reputation is shot," complained the voice on the other end.
"So, nothing yet?" Samuel said icily, taking a swig of his drink.
"Just a matter of time. No case I can't crack. How many cold cases in the States have I solved? A hundred percent clearance rate. Think America's top detective is a fluke?"
"She mentioned that two people entered the room and stripped them."
Though Samuel verbally expressed mistrust, he had gone ahead and started an investigation.
And now he was persisting.
"Yeah, I won't rule that out. Give me one more day, and you'll have your answer tomorrow."
"Today!" Samuel demanded. He was near the edge of sanity. He couldn't wait any longer.
"Alright, I'll have something for you tonight."
Samuel hung up.
He closed his eyes, his head pounding.
Deep down, there was still a flicker of hope. Layla, please don't let it be a betrayal!
...
Layla emerged from the elevator in tears.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" a passerby couldn't help but ask with concern.
Layla wanted to say she was fine, but as she opened her mouth, a sharp sourness coursed through her throat, making it hard to speak. She simply shook her head and hurried out of the hotel.
Drizzle fell gently from the overcast sky, mirroring the gloom that enveloped her heart, the suffocating air wrapping around her like a blanket.
Her phone rang abruptly, and glancing at the caller ID, she answered in haste.
"Owen? How did you get out? Did they release you?"
"Yeah, just got out of jail. Where are you?"
"I..." Layla hesitated, not wanting him to know she had gone to see Samuel.
"Get a cab and meet me at the Golden Bridge Hotel, now."
"What for?"
"No time to explain. Just hurry!" Owen hung up before she could respond.
Layla hailed a taxi quickly. "Driver, Golden Bridge Hotel, please."
Fifteen minutes later, Layla arrived to find Owen already there, smoking outside the hotel entrance.
She snatched the cigarette from his lips. "Why are you smoking again? Are you okay? Everything's fine, right?"
She examined him from head to toe, a nervous flurry of movements. Thankfully, his face bore only minor scrapes, nothing serious.
"I'm fine," Owen said, brushing her off and frowning. "Did you go begging to that jerk Justin?"
"I... I didn't."
He saw through her lie in an instant. "I've told you, I'd rather do life in prison than have you beg him..."
"Let's not talk about the past. Stay out of his way from now on," Layla interrupted. "Now, what's this all about? Why'd you rush me here?"
"Just look."