Chapter 240

As Nora spat out her curses, her once beautiful face contorted into an image of ferocity and malice. It was so extreme that Layla found it impossible to reconcile this woman with the gentle, intellectual Nora she once knew.

Layla found herself in a precarious position, one where she sought to avoid conflict if at all possible. However, Nora's barrage of insults, laced with the vilest of language, sparked a flame of anger within her.

"Miss Eilish," Layla retorted, "is this the education your esteemed Eilish family provides? Resorting to vulgarities and name-calling? You're no better than a common street woman."

Nora's response was swift and biting. "You deserve every insult for playing the role of the other woman. Can't I curse you for such shameless actions? Mr. Holland has cast you aside, yet you continue to pursue him relentlessly. You're worse than a common harlot. I've seen your type before," she sneered, pointing an accusatory finger at Layla while clutching a luxurious Hermes bag. "Cling to Mr. Holland all you want, it won't matter. We're to be wed on the eighth of next month."

The eighth of next month.

The words echoed in Layla's mind, causing her heart to stutter. The emotional barrier she had been struggling to maintain crumbled with a deafening crash. She attempted to maintain an air of indifference, but her face paled, and her lips lost their color.

Nora's laughter was a grating sound in Layla's ears. "What's the matter? Are you upset? Pathetic women like you are not only cheap but also delusional. Mr. Holland was merely toying with you, and yet you dare to covet his wife's position? You're nothing more than a plaything to my husband."

Layla's fingers clenched tightly as she looked up at Nora, her gaze icy and distant. "If the hollow title of 'Holland's wife' is enough for you, then consider yourself victorious. But remember, all you'll have is an empty shell of a man. Samuel doesn't love you."

Nora's triumphant smirk faltered, replaced by a look of hurt. Her satisfaction was short-lived, quickly replaced by anger. However, she was momentarily rendered speechless, taken aback by Layla's words.

"At least I know that I once held his heart, something you'll never experience," Layla added, her gaze fixed on Nora's stiffened face. There was a perverse pleasure in seeing the woman who had hurt her so much, now hurting in return.

Layla had had enough of this woman and her insults. She would not back down.

"I am soon to be Mrs. Holland, the woman who will stand by his side for life," Nora declared, pointing at herself with a manic look in her eyes.

"Then hold onto your hollow, fame-driven marriage," Layla replied, her gaze filled with sympathy.

Nora trembled with rage as she watched Layla walk away. She was supposed to be the victor, the wife of Mr. Holland. Why was she being provoked by the other woman? This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She was the winner.

Nora clung to her identity as Mrs. Holland, trying to calm herself. But a voice in her ear kept repeating, 'he won't love you, he won't love you.'

"No," Nora whispered to herself, clutching her head in desperation. "Samuel will love me. He just doesn't love me now, but he will in the future, he will..."

"He will..."

But as she repeated the words, her voice grew fainter and fainter, until it was nothing more than a whisper.

Meanwhile, Layla had left the hospital, her mind consumed by the looming date of their wedding.

Layla's lips twisted into a sardonic smile.

She had envisioned their wedding as a grand spectacle, a glorious event that would be the envy of all who bore witness. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, he was about to exchange vows with Nora. The groom remained a constant, but the bride had been replaced. The absurdity of it all was staggering.

Was this the harsh reality of high-end marriages? Was she so ill-suited to Samuel?

She mused on the pragmatism of men. When emotions and interests clashed, they invariably chose the latter. Even Samuel, it seemed, was not exempt from this rule. As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Layla's smile soured into bitterness.

Suddenly, a sports car screeched to a halt before her. A young man, clad in sleek motorcycle gear, removed his helmet to reveal a neat crew cut. His handsome features were sharp and striking.

"Layla? What are you doing at the hospital? Are you unwell?" Owen Adkins inquired, his voice laced with concern.

Without a moment's hesitation, Layla swung herself onto his motorcycle. "Take me away from here."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere. Just drive. As long as it's away from here."

She yearned for escape, to roam freely, to be anywhere but here.

"Sure." Owen didn't press for details. He secured a helmet onto Layla, guided her hands to his waist, and instructed, "Hold on tight."

Like a poised cheetah, Owen leaned into the motorcycle, revved the engine, and they were off. They sped along the coastal road, the city lights twinkling in the distance as day gave way to night.

Layla clung to Owen's sturdy back, her tears falling freely.

As dusk settled over the seaside, the cool breeze tousled Layla's hair. Her tears had dried, but her eyes remained red and swollen. She was draped in Owen's motorcycle jacket, the zipper drawn up to shield her neck.

"It's cold, let's head back." Owen couldn't bear to see Layla in such a state. He had intended to reprimand her, but the words died on his lips.

"I want to stay a little longer..." Layla murmured, her gaze fixed on the distant sunset.

Their love, much like the setting sun, was beyond repair. The only difference was that the sun would rise again, while their love would remain shrouded in perpetual darkness.

"I'll fetch you some hot milk. Stay put." Owen cast several worried glances her way before reluctantly departing.

A nearby couple's conversation drifted to Layla's ears. The husband, concerned for his pregnant wife, cautioned her to be careful. The wife playfully complained, seeking reassurances of his love. They shared a tender embrace, their love illuminated by the setting sun.

Beside them, Layla cut a lonely figure.

A daughter.

Fathers always had a soft spot for daughters.

Samuel's sweet words echoed in her mind. He had expressed a desire for a daughter, promising to spoil her endlessly. Layla laughed bitterly at the memory, the cold wind snapping her back to reality. She was alone. The man who had professed a desire for a daughter had heartlessly suggested they abort their unborn child.

Samuel didn't want the baby, but she did.

Layla rested her hand on her abdomen, reassured by the life growing within her. The baby was not a burden, but a blessing. She vowed to shower her child with all the love in the world.

"Baby, for you, I will endure. I will be strong... You are all I need."

The baby nestled in her womb was Layla's sole comfort, a beacon of warmth in her otherwise cold world.