Chapter Twenty-Seven: He Gets What He Wants

Layla knew that if anyone knew her thoughts, they'd probably label her a bit nutty. No one could figure out why Tristan acted this way since he was known for his ruthless and decisive nature.

A few paparazzi once stalked him for six months in secret but ended up with nothing. They thought a handsome and accomplished young man like him would be a prodigal son. However, Tristan never went on dates and always kept a courteous but distant demeanor towards people. He epitomized the image of a stoic workaholic who always put in those 12-hour workdays.

Yet there he was, the same man who maintained a frigid façade, now playfully clinging onto Layla with a mischievous grin, turning on the charm.

"Tristan, will you stop that?" Layla awkwardly stumbled over her words after a moment of silence.

Tristan let out a soft chuckle and planted a firm kiss on her lips. Before Layla could even process the kiss, he quickly trapped her wrists and pressed her hands against the wall. Surprised and in disbelief, Layla gasped but did not attempt to resist.

Tristan inched closer, his muscular chest pressing into hers. He captured her lips with a commanding kiss, his tongue exploring every inch in a way that left her with no room for refusal. Feeling delicate in his embrace, Layla seemed to melt like butter under his touch. The only sound echoing in the vast mansion was the intertwined dance of their lips and tongues.

Her body responded effortlessly to his touch, as every one of his caresses felt like a familiar melody. As his hand slipped under her clothes, she couldn't help but release a soft whimper, completely giving in to his desires.

They were so immersed in their passion that none of them noticed Layla's buzzing phone on the floor with Ashton's name flashing on the screen.

Tristan awoke the next morning as the first light peeked through the curtains. Expecting to find Layla beside him, he was met with an empty space and a cold bed. He was clueless about how long she had been gone.

Tristan felt a wave of emptiness and longing wash over him as he hurriedly rose from the bed and started finding her.

"Layla?" he called out, disappointed when he realized she wasn't in the room.

He put on some clothes, went downstairs and caught sight of her in his oversized shirt.

Her graceful form swayed gently as she walked around the room. Leaning against the stair railing, he couldn't help but admire the captivating sight before him.

His heart swelled with affection, thinking to himself that she had no clue how effortlessly alluring she appeared.

She had curves that could rival those of a goddess, with full breasts and hips, while her slender waist and toned legs created a mesmerizing silhouette. The shirt, which usually fit him well, draped loosely on her, barely grazing her thighs. With each movement, a hint of delicate white lace underwear teased his gaze, a private marvel meant for him alone.

Resting his chin on his hand, Tristan observed her with a mix of fascination and admiration.

However, as Layla caught him staring, she lifted her head with a hint of irritation. "Don't you have any clothes that fit me in your mansion?"

She adjusted the oversized shirt uncomfortably, frowning. "This doesn't fit right."

"Well, if you ask me..." Tristan started speaking, approaching her with a gaze that ignited memories of the sex they had the night before. A blush grazed her cheeks as he cornered her against the wall, leaving her no escape. He whispered in her ear, "I think you look beautiful."

His gaze was so intense and sincere, making her feel as though he could see right through her.

Layla bit her lip, hands pressed against his chest to stop his advance. "Cut the sweet talk. Just get me some clothes."

Tristan smirked at her words, taking a step back to admire her, which made her feel shy.

"I can help you if you want," he offered. His words seemed to carry a hidden implication.

As a shrewd businesswoman, Layla detected his underlying motive – a hint of negotiation in his proposition.

She wasn't bothered by his boldness as she was in a decent mood. "Alright, spill it. What are your terms?"

Tristan's eyes flickered down for a moment before a grin spread across his face. "First off, I need you to openly announce at the press conference that your marriage with Ashton is over and that you don't have anything to do with him in the present or future."

Despite the chaotic things of the previous day, she hadn't taken a public stance to clarify the situation.

As she expected, rumors spiraled out of control.

Today, the Hammond Group had scheduled a press conference where Layla would finally set the record straight.

Displeased, Layla cut in, "I know what I should do. I don't need you to teach me."

With a smile, Tristan waved off her frustration and continued, "Secondly, I want you to move in with me starting today."

Just as Tristan finished speaking, he leaned in as though he was about to kiss Layla. She blinked in anticipation of the kiss when he abruptly stopped and let out a low laugh. "Are you waiting for me to make the first move?"

She clearly saw a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

She realized he was deliberately teasing her.

Feeling a rush of embarrassment, Layla pushed his hand away. "Tristan! Be serious!"

Tristan laughed in response, "My terms are pretty simple, aren't they? All you have to do is say one sentence."

In fact, he desired more than mere words from her. He was clearly seeking her to take a stand.