Chapter Twenty-Five: That Damn Jerk

While Mike scrolled through the hot topics, his eyes widened in shock as he said, "Oh my god, Ashton, you need to check this out! Tristan just stepped in to back Layla up!"

Ashton, who had been casually waiting for Layla's call, suddenly sat up straight and grabbed Mike's phone. "What?" He asked in surprise.

Seeing the screen, Ashton's temples throbbed with anger, sparking a rush of panic that quickly turned into fury.

Without a second thought, he dialed Layla's number.

Meanwhile, overwhelmed by the swarm of reporters, Layla heard her phone ring and saw Ashton's name flashing on the screen.

She didn't hesitate to guess the reason for his call.

She initially wanted to ignore the call. However, she knew that if she didn't pick up now, he'd dial a hundred or a thousand more times, or worse, might even show up at her office. To dodge more unwanted attention, Layla reluctantly answered.

Before she could speak, Ashton's pointed questions pierced through the line, "Who does Tristan think he is to help you? Seriously, what's the deal between you two?"

Layla abruptly hung up the phone before Ashton could let loose with more rude questions.

However, her phone rang again just a short while later.

Feeling tense, Layla picked up and wasted no time in letting out her anger, "Ashton, can't you give it a rest? Why do you care who I am friends with?"

A nervous voice cut in, "Miss Hammond, it's me, Bruno."

Layla's mood didn't lighten one bit, even after hearing his name. She knew she wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for her boss, Tristan.

Exhaling deeply, Layla's voice was filled with bitterness as she icily remarked, "Bruno, tell your boss thanks on my behalf. Looks like I'm officially a celebrity now."

Bruno discreetly wiped his brow, then glanced at Tristan in the rearview mirror. Tristan appeared lost in thought, staring out the window. Disregarding Layla's sarcasm, Bruno stated matter-of-factly, "I've cleared out the parking lot. I'm sure there are no reporters around. You can come down now, Miss Hammond. We'll be waiting."

The call had already been disconnected by the time Layla was about to say something.

She peeked through the blinds down to the chaos below.

The scene instantly jolted her with a flood of reporters stacked outside the office building. It was like a flood that got out of hand, with security barely holding back the wave of reporters trying to bust through the doors.

It struck her then that Tristan did indeed wield the influence as rumored. His simple actions had thrust her into the spotlight. Even if she wanted to lay low, that ship had sailed.

Recalling Ashton's furious rants over the phone, Layla felt a surge of overwhelm.

It was clear she needed to make a quick exit from this place for now.

In a flash, Layla packed her handbag and gave a brief heads-up to Sally before making her way downstairs by the private elevator.

Upon arrival, Bruno rushed to meet her, saying, "Miss Hammond, right this way, please."

Layla strode towards the white BMW parked discreetly in a corner. Though the windows were tinted dark, she had a hunch that Tristan was sitting inside.

Realizing she had nothing to fear since she hadn't done anything wrong, Layla confidently opened the car door.

As expected, Tristan was lounging in the back, flashing her a knowing grin as he lazily opened his eyes.

Layla narrowed her eyes, the urge to kill him growing strong. She snapped at Bruno through clenched teeth, "How much is Tristan paying you to work this hard for him?"

Bruno, looking like he might sink into himself with nerves, gave a jittery chuckle and feigned ignorance. "Miss Hammond, please get in the car before the press storm this place."

Despite her anger, Layla knew she had to hurry, which was why she then reluctantly climbed into the car.

Bruno quickly took the front seat and buckled up as the door shut.

A heavy silence settled in the car, with neither of them wanting to make a sound.

The car exited the parking lot and headed towards the exit gate. However, none of them noticed a flashy red Ferrari they passed by as they left.

Feeling Tristan's gaze on her, Layla shot him a sarcastic look, "Are you trying to kick-start my fame with this whole show, Mr. Frucht?"

Tristan smirked, his voice smooth and deep, "If that's what you're after, we can make it happen."

Tristan's nonchalant remark only fueled Layla's anger, making her wish she could unleash it in some way.

With a frustrated huff, she rolled her eyes and turned away, choosing to ignore him for the rest of the ride.

She leaned against the window with her eyes shut.

The car soon pulled up in front of an unfamiliar villa.

Taking in the new surroundings, Layla knit her brows and asked, "Where are we?"

Bruno clarified, "Your place is surrounded by reporters at the moment, so it's not safe to head back. This house belongs to Mr. Frucht, but no one else knows about it. You can stay here until the commotion dies down."

Layla pursed her lips, instinctively wanting to decline.

But even before she could protest, Tristan had already opened the car door and made his way to her side. With a smooth movement, he cradled her by the waist and carried her up effortlessly.