Chapter 21 up
“Today cannot fail.”
Nyla whispered the words to her own reflection in the elevator mirror. Her hand gripped her work bag tightly—not out of nervousness, but out of resolve. Her outfit was simple, neat, and appropriate—no luxury, no attempt to stand out. She wasn’t here to be admired. She was here to work.
The elevator doors slid open.
Vincent’s company building rose elegantly before her, its glass walls reflecting the morning light. Nyla’s steps paused for a fraction of a second—not because of doubt, but because of the realization that her life truly changed starting today.
She took a deep breath.
But before her foot could fully step onto the lobby floor—
“Nyla!”
The voice made her body tense.
She turned slowly.
Clark stood several meters away, his face dark, his breathing heavy, as if he had been waiting for a long time. His suit was wrinkled, his tie crooked—nothing like his usual polished, controlled appearance.
“What are you doing here?” Nyla asked coldly.
Clark strode toward her. “You’re not going in there.”
His tone wasn’t a request.
It was an order.
Nyla frowned. “Move aside, Clark. I’m late.”
Clark grabbed her wrist.
The touch made Nyla flinch.
“Let go,” she said firmly.
“No,” Clark shot back. “You’re coming home with me. Now.”
A few people in the lobby began to glance their way. Nyla felt heat surge through her chest—not embarrassment, but anger.
“You have no right to grab me,” she said in a low voice. “Let me go.”
Clark’s grip tightened. “I won’t let you work for that man.”
“That man?” Nyla let out a short, bitter laugh. “You can’t even bring yourself to say his name.”
Clark growled. “You know who I mean!”
“I do,” Nyla replied sharply. “And that’s exactly why I’m not going with you.”
Clark pulled her a little closer. “You’re my wife!”
The words struck hard.
Nyla looked straight at him. “You remember that now?”
Clark froze for a moment, then his emotions exploded. “I came here to save you!”
“Save me from what?” Nyla demanded. “From working? From standing on my own feet?”
She tried to pull away, but Clark didn’t loosen his hold.
“Men like Vincent never give without taking something in return,” Clark said forcefully. “You’ll regret this.”
Nyla stopped struggling.
She looked at Clark—really looked at him—and for the first time, Clark saw something different in her eyes.
Not love.
Not hope.
But a cold, unmistakable clarity.
“You know what hurts the most?” Nyla asked softly. “Not what you’re saying. But the fact that you think you have the right to forbid me from living… when you never protected me.”
Clark opened his mouth, but Nyla didn’t give him the chance.
“When I left, you didn’t look for me,” she continued. “You didn’t send me money. You didn’t ask if I was eating. But now—when I finally stand on my own—you show up with commanding hands.”
Clark shook his head hard. “I was just afraid of losing you.”
Nyla smiled faintly. “You already lost me.”
The sentence made Clark lose control.
“Don’t go in there!” he shouted. “If you take one more step, don’t expect me to stay silent!”
Nyla exhaled slowly.
Then, with one firm motion, she pulled her hand free. Clark stumbled back—not because of Nyla’s physical strength, but because of her decisiveness.
“I’m not asking for your permission,” Nyla said steadily. “And I don’t need your approval.”
Clark stared at her with reddened eyes. “You chose him.”
“I chose myself,” Nyla replied without hesitation.
Clark let out a harsh laugh. “You think you’re special to him?”
Nyla stepped closer, her voice low but cutting. “Maybe not. But at least he respects me enough to give me a job. Something you never did.”
People had stopped pretending not to watch. The tension in the lobby thickened.
Clark rubbed his face in frustration. “I won’t let this happen.”
“Clark,” Nyla said firmly, “if you keep blocking me, I will call security.”
The threat silenced him.
He looked at Nyla as if she were a stranger.
“Since when did you become like this?” he asked quietly.
Nyla gave a small, tired smile. “Since I stopped hoping for you.”
Clark stepped back one pace—defeated, though he would never admit it.
Nyla didn’t look back.
She walked into the building, through the automatically opening glass doors. Every step felt heavy, yet certain.
Inside, the receptionist greeted her warmly.
“Good morning, Ms. Nyla. Mr. Vincent is already waiting for you.”