Chapter 212

The nuptials were called off?

The news hit Layla like a sledgehammer, her mind reeling from the unexpected blow.

Her fingers tightened around her phone as she demanded, "When did this transpire?"

"Merely yesterday, precisely at five in the afternoon," came the response.

"Why call off the wedding?" she asked, disbelief lacing her words.

"How should I know? Samuel is not a man to be trifled with. When he declared the wedding was no more, I dared not question his motives. You're seeking answers from me, yet I'm equally in the dark. Everything was nearing completion, then suddenly, it's all over. We were just as shocked as you. Don't you have any inkling about this? It's strange. I can't fathom what Samuel is contemplating. Ah, we've been dismantling everything since yesterday..."

"Hold on, don't dismantle anything yet," Layla interjected hastily.

It felt as though once the wedding arrangements were removed, the finality of it all would truly sink in.

She couldn't bear it!

"But Samuel declared it's over."

"Just instruct them to pause for now, I'll get back to you."

"Very well, but you must act swiftly. It has to be removed by the day after tomorrow at the latest."

Layla sat in her car, her complexion ashen, and it took an eternity for her to regain her composure.

After a restless night, Layla made numerous calls, each one ending with the harsh click of a disconnect.

She lay alone on the bed that once belonged to both of them. Samuel's scent still clung to the pillow, a fragrance that had once brought her comfort and joy, now only served to torment her with unbearable heartache.

She curled up, clutching the bedsheet tightly, her tears saturating the pillowcase.

Where was he? Was he with Nora? Were they together at this very moment, engaged in...

The mere thought of such a possibility inflicted a pain so profound that she found it difficult to draw breath.

They had shared that bed innumerable times, their souls entwined. He had soothed her nightmares, vowing a lifetime of devotion.

Why had everything altered so abruptly...

Layla couldn't comprehend it, and the torment made her feel like bashing her head against the wall.

Tears of bitterness flowed unchecked, but this time, there was no one to dry them.

It wasn't until the following night that Samuel returned.

Layla, donning an apron, was engrossed in the kitchen.

"The bodyguard, you've returned," Mr. Morris greeted cheerfully.

Layla turned and saw Samuel, standing there in a pristine suit. His face was as cold as marble, his expression vacant as he regarded her as if she were a stranger.

Mr. Morris had anticipated a joyous reunion, but the scene he had envisioned never materialized. The bodyguard's reaction was chillingly aloof.

Something was terribly amiss.

"You may leave," Samuel commanded.

"Alright."

Layla had wept throughout the night. Her eyes were red and swollen, deeply recessed. Her mind was in turmoil, her emotions teetering on the edge. She yearned to confront Samuel, to demand an explanation for his cold demeanor.

But instead, Layla feigned indifference, managing a smile that was more heartbreaking than her tears, "You've returned."

Her voice was hoarse, a hint of a sob lingering in her words. She felt insignificant.

Summoning all her strength to suppress her tears, Layla managed to say, "I, I prepared barbecued ribs, your favorite dish, isn't it?"

Layla had been remiss in her culinary duties of late, her usual enthusiasm dulled by a pervasive lethargy. But today, she had made an effort, especially for him. She stood there, a plate of ribs in her hands, her posture awkward. It was as if she was trying to please him, her actions almost comical in their earnestness. "I prepared this especially for you today. Please, try it," she implored.

Her attempt at a smile was undermined by the threat of tears, her eyes glistening with unshed moisture. She swallowed hard, battling the sour taste in her throat, and steadied herself. "Please, wash up. Let's have dinner," she suggested, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"I have something to tell you," Samuel interjected, his voice devoid of warmth, crisp and detached.

A sudden sense of dread seized Layla, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hand wavered, the plate of ribs threatening to slip from her grasp.

"Let's eat first," she pleaded, desperate to postpone whatever he had to say.

She attempted to sidestep him, but he reached out, gripping her wrist firmly. "We'll talk now," he insisted, his voice icy and unyielding.

Tears blurred Layla's vision, her eyes stinging. "Can't it wait until after dinner?" she begged, her voice trembling.

"No need to wait," he responded, his tone resolute and impatient.

His voice, once tender and reserved solely for her, now held an air of indifference. She wondered who was the recipient of his kindness now. Nora?

With a bitter smile, Layla closed her eyes, cutting off the flow of tears that fell into her bowl. She looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed. "What do you want to say? That you've been with Nora these past few days? That you've called off the wedding?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Samuel's brow furrowed briefly before he responded, his tone indifferent. "Since you already know, let's break up."

Break up.

He said it so decisively, so ruthlessly.

Layla felt as if her heart had been pierced. She should have been angry, but instead...

"I don't want to break up," she whispered, her voice pitifully weak. Instead of a fiery confrontation, she was begging, clinging to him like a desperate joke. "Samuel, I don't want to break up."

"Are you joking?" he asked, his tone flat.

"Did I do something wrong? I know I have a bad temper and I always argue with you-I'll be good from now on, okay?" She held onto his hand, pleading through her sobs. "Samuel, please don't joke about this. I know you love me just like I love you, right?"

"We were going to get married and spend our lives together. The wedding... We're already planning it... There's only a week left until the 28th..."

"There won't be a wedding," Samuel stated, his gaze devoid of compassion.

"There will be one, you promised!" Layla cried out, her voice breaking. "You promised..."

"I did say that, but that was in the past."

"I don't believe it! What happened? Can you just tell me what's wrong? Is it the Hollands? Did they pressure you into marrying Nora?"

Layla clung to this possibility, her grip on his hand tightening. "It must be them."

But Samuel remained unmoved, his tall figure unyielding, his gaze as cold as ice. "The Hollands have been pressuring me for a long time. Have you ever seen me waver? If I didn't want to marry Nora, nobody could make me."

"Then why?"

"The reason isn't important."

"It is important!" Layla protested. "It's very important; I need to know why."

"You said we're from different worlds."

"But you told me that didn't matter. You said the differences weren't important, that as long as there was true love, we could overcome any obstacle. Being from different worlds, we would just have to work hard to merge into one." Layla's grip on his hand tightened, her fingers icy and trembling as she struggled to convince him.

Samuel's response was a cool smirk, a light scoff escaping his lips. "Class, status-these aren't gaps you can just wish away. Don't be delusional. Nora has the entire Eilish family behind her, and what do you have? You are but a pitiable soul from the lower class, alone and unsupported. Women like you are a dime a dozen."