Chapter Eighteen: The Sound of His Broken Heart

The car glided to a stop outside Layla's house, and Tristan's voice, gentle like a whisper in the night, floated in the air, "Can you handle it on your own? Do you need a hand?"

The silence between them felt eerie, like a thin fog enveloping them. Layla's heart raced, threatening to burst out of her chest. Without much thought, she quickly replied, "Thanks, but I've got it."

She swung open the car door and stepped out, retreating back to her home as if each stride was a desperate escape.

Slamming the door shut behind her, she leaned against the cool frame, trying to catch her breath.

After some time spent trying to steady herself, she reluctantly came to terms with the harsh reality.

She started to wonder if it was all just a crazy coincidence.

She nodded to herself, trying to convince her mind to accept this fresh idea.

In a world full of similar faces, could it really be just a coincidence between them - a mere whiff of perfume, a simple watch?

Layla found it hard to unwind that night with her thoughts playing tricks on her. It was well past nine. She had finished her shower and now sat on the couch, nibbling on her nails, her mind all a jumble. The room was dim, with all the lights off - maybe she didn't want to turn them on, or perhaps she was just too afraid to do so.

Her eyes remained fixed on the door, and though the shadows obscured any clear vision, a faint sense of anticipation lingered within her.

Yet, she wasn't sure what exactly she was anticipating.

Just then, the door creaked open, filling the room with the sound of crisp footsteps coming from the living room.

The faint moonlight cast shadows all around. Layla couldn't make out who it was, but she just knew.

The comforting smell of cedarwood and the warm breath against her skin signaled Simon's arrival.

He slowly drew near. He used a firm embrace to envelop her, a familiar kiss landing softly on her lips as the lights flickered to life.

Feeling Simon's presence, Layla shut her eyes tightly, the involuntary shivers coursing through her body.

"Why won't you look at me?" Simon paused the kiss, his fingers gently lifting her chin, his voice a soothing murmur in her ear.

Layla kept her eyes shut, her delicate lashes fluttering nervously like fragile peony petals.

Simon's touch caressed her skin tenderly, his voice as calm as a final decree, "How can you see me without the lights on?"

He then lifted her skirt, his hand sliding underneath, eliciting a startled cry from her. Startled, she opened her eyes to meet Tristan's gaze.

At that moment, Layla's mental defenses, which had held steady all night, crumbled completely as she realized the man intimately close to her was Tristan, Ashton's friend.

"Why would you do this, Mr. Frucht? It's definitely not because you're strapped for money, right?" Layla's frustration was evident as she gazed at Tristan, hoping to provoke a reaction.

Tristan's composed demeanor and unruffled posture only served to stoke her ire, pushing her to the edge where she wanted to let loose on him.

With a chuckle, he retorted, "Who would complain about having too much money?"

Giving him a scornful look, Layla asked further, "So, Bruno is in your circle too?"

But Tristan remained silent, his gaze fixed on her like a predator lurking in the shadows, ready to strike and claim its prey. He emanated a strong sense of aggression.

Driven by anger, Layla gave a stinging slap to Tristan's chiseled face, saying, "You're messed up!"

Following her outburst, Layla stormed off without a backward glance.

However, Tristan caught up to her, gripping her arm firmly and pinning her against the wall. His warm body pressed against hers, his tone grave as he uttered, "Don't you want to know the truth?"

Blinded by anger, Layla disregarded his words because all she hoped was that he would vanish into thin air. Her face drained of color as she struggled against his hold while saying, "Let me go, now! I don't want to hear any excuses."

"I'm not letting go. Remember what you said last night?" Tristan's voice dropped to a husky murmur and was filled with a hidden desire. Layla was surprised to feel his physical response.

She couldn't deny that they had a good physical connection. He was attractive, had a nice body, and was skilled in bed. But the fact that he approached her under false pretenses was something she couldn't accept.

She was unable to bear this realization and didn't want to listen to his explanations anymore.

"Do you just want to be my secret lover? Don't you have any shame?" Layla confronted him.

Tristan gazed deeply into her eyes with a brewing storm within. Just when Layla expected he would be angry, he surprised her with a sudden kiss, pulling her into a passionate embrace that left her speechless. His kiss was filled with emotion, overpowering her with desire. She found herself unable to resist his advances and had no choice but to succumb to his seduction.

Time seemed to slip away as Tristan's kiss consumed her, leaving her feeling dizzy and weak from the passion of the moment. When he finally pulled back, wiping her lips gently with his fingers, she could hear her rapid heartbeat and his husky voice saying, "You obviously enjoyed kissing me. Can he satisfy you like I can?"

Layla broke free from Tristan's embrace with a forceful push, her eyes ablaze with anger as she slapped him again. The impact left a visible mark on his impeccable face and made him look disheveled, a stark departure from the composed leader of the esteemed Frucht Group that he was known to be.

Layla's gaze was filled with loathing, her teeth clenched in fury as she uttered, "Just leave! The contract is null and void now, and I never want to see you again!"

Tristan felt his heart shatter at her words, a sharp ache piercing through him as he realized the depth of the rift between them.