Chapter 92

Samuel flashed a wry smile. "What do you mean by that?"

"To you, everything is a transaction. You agree to something only if it's predicated on the other person meeting one of your demands first."

"Is that so? I hadn't noticed." He replied casually, as she had brought it to his attention for the first time, adding, "It's just a glass of milk, not like I'm trying to get you into bed."

Layla's cheeks flushed, her fingers tightening, "Nobody likes to be forced into anything, even if it's trivial."

"That's because you're too sensitive." Samuel brushed it off and took a sip of his coffee. To him, she was like a porcupine, all bristles in his presence.

"It's hard not to be around you."

He chose not to comment on that.

After their afternoon tea, Samuel drove Layla back to her place.

She lived in one of the city's oldest apartment blocks, a three-story building of dirt-worn bricks, looking like it could be demolished at any moment.

As soon as the Bentley came to a stop, Layla reached for the door.

"Call me if you need anything."

"I won't be calling you," she asserted instantly.

"In my world, there's no such thing as can't."

Layla scoffed, "Can you make it so I don't have kids?"

Samuel's brows furrowed, his tone carrying a warning, "Being too prickly isn't a good trait for a woman."

He believed he had been quite accommodating with her, but even his patience had its limits.

With a scoff, Layla slammed the car door behind her.

Samuel exhaled deeply, rolled down the window, and lit a cigarette. His arm rested lazily on the window ledge as a wisp of smoke rose in the air.

He took a deep drag, exhaling the smoke through his nose, his voice low and husky, "Keep someone on her 24/7, ensure her safety."

"Yes, boss."

Climbing the stairs to the third floor, Layla was about to unlock her door when it swung open.

A redhead with a punkish attitude, Sarah, confronted her accusingly, "Was that guy loaded? Did you get yourself a sugar daddy?"

Such insolence was precisely why Layla found her so annoying. Dismissing the remark, she replied icily, "Don't spout nonsense."

"I'm not! That was a Bentley, a rich man's car. How long have you been his? How much does he pay you a month?" Sarah pressed on, gripping Layla's arm.

"What money?" Sophia, upon hearing the mention of money, bolted from the kitchen.

"A wealthy old guy just dropped her off." Sarah tattled.

"Which old guy? How do you know him? Did you get adopted, Layla?" Sophia buzzed around her with questions.

Their ugly, greedy faces discussing nothing but money were enough to make Layla sick to her stomach.

"Look at you, Layla, moving on up in the world. Keeping your sugar daddy a secret, trying to keep all the cash to yourself. I raised you, and you think you can just cut me off without a dime? You got another thing coming."

Sophia and Sarah cornered Layla.

"I didn't grow up on your dime. I went to school on scholarships, and I worked for my living expenses," Layla snapped back with ferocity.

"I never should have let you go to college. Right after high school, I was about to marry you off to that old buzzard next door. And you? Leading Owen astray and then running off. If you hadn't run away, by now..."

"By now, you'd be in jail! I was a minor then; you forcing me to marry my own father would've been illegal."

"Bull! He went off and married someone younger than you right after, and now they've got three kids. Lives off the rent from a few properties; has the sweet life."

"You're jealous? Why didn't you marry off your own daughter then?" Layla sneered, casting a glance at Sarah.

Enraged, Sarah stomped her foot. "Shut your mouth, Layla!"

"What's all this noise?" Jason, sloppily dressed in a ratty white tank top, stumbled in holding two bottles of booze, clearly plastered.

Day-drinking to the point of oblivion was something Layla despised, though she was used to it by now. She could hardly recall a time when Jason was sober.

"Your daughter's been taken in by a sugar daddy," Sophia pointed at Layla.

"What? You disgrace, no better than your mother," Jason raged, swinging his hand at her, but Layla dodged instinctively.

"You dare dodge when I'm hitting you?"

"Dad, she's shameless; beat her to a pulp!" Sarah's eyes bulged with excitement as she cheered on.

"So how much did he pay you? Cough it up. I didn't raise you for nothing."

"Hand it over!"

"To hell with all of you! Get lost, the farther, the better!"

Their voices tangled into an ugly cacophony, each grotesque face magnifying like a monstrous effect, stabbing at Layla's eyes. She was on the verge of exploding!

Each time she came home, she felt like a ticking bomb, barely restraining herself from screaming. Surviving this family without losing her mind was nothing short of miraculous.

If it weren't for Owen's birthday tomorrow, she never would have returned.

Layla slammed the door with a thud.

"Layla, open this door. That room is mine; open it now! Can you hear me?" Sarah banged on the door, making it thump loudly.

The two of them shared a room with bunk beds, but only the bare mattress remained on the top bunk. Anything left behind by Laylay was tossed out.

She climbed onto the upper bunk, curled up on the hard surface, her mind filled with irritation as she consideredof giving Owen his skateboard and leaving .

"Mom, that bitch locked the door and won't let me in."

" What? She actually locked the door? Who does she think she is? I'll get the keys."

Jason, aren't you going to do something about that damn girl? All she does is drink all day long. How has she not drunk herself to death? Did you take the money I'd hidden in the closet? That was the hard-earned cash I scraped together from a month of scrubbing factory floors, money meant for my boy. You better give it back!"

"Marrying a drunkard like you, what in the world was my sin!"

"I can't stand this anymore, I want a divorce!"

"Mom, why are you here again? Hurry up and get the keys! I'm going to give that person a piece of my mind!"

Layla covered her ears, trying to tune out the argument outside.

Later, Sarah unlocked the door, causing a huge scene that almost deafened Layla, who ignored her.

Sophia muttered to herself as she prepared dinner, but by 8 PM, Owen still hadn't returned.

"What's going on? Why isn't he answering his phone?" Sophia said worriedly. "I hope nothing's happened to him."

"Who knows? When does he not get into trouble?" Layla casually threw in a remark.

"Shut your mouth, don't you curse my Owen." Sophia usually doted on her son and couldn't bear to hear even a slight against him.

"I left his gift in his room; I'm out of here." Layla couldn't stand to be there another minute and got up to leave.

As she opened the door, a young man with a bruised face barged in, shouting anxiously, "Auntie, Owen, Owen's in trouble!"