Chapter 8 - The Confrontation of the Damned
“Dominic, no!” Layla cried out, stepping forward, her hands raised defensively. “Listen to me! This is a setup! I didn't print those papers! I don't even know what an offshore account looks like!”
Dominic stepped closer, his boots crunching on the hardwood floor. He bent down, picked up the forged transfer receipt bearing her name, and held it up in front of her face.
“My dock schedules,” Dominic said, his voice shaking with suppressed fury. “The exact coordinates of our midnight freight arrivals. The Russian syndicate ambushed our men tonight based on these exact documents. Three of my loyal men are in the hospital right now fighting for their lives.”
“I swear to God I had nothing to do with this!” tears finally broke through Layla’s shock, streaming down her pale cheeks as she clutched her swollen stomach. “Think, Dominic! Why would I destroy the father of my children? Why would I risk my babies’ lives?”
“To sell me out to the highest bidder,” Dominic roared, his voice finally breaking through its icy control, shaking the glass windows of the suite. “Just like everyone else! You played the poor, innocent maid, you used the pregnancy to lock yourself inside my fortress, and all the while you were leaking my empire piece by piece to my enemies!”
Layla stared at him, the horrifying realization hitting her with the force of a physical blow.
He believed it. The ruthless billionaire, the man who trusted no one, had fallen right into Victoria’s trap. His pride, his paranoia, and his deep-seated fear of betrayal had completely blinded him.
“You don't believe me,” Layla whispered, her voice cracking as the last shred of hope died inside her chest. “After everything... you still think I’m just a liar.”
Dominic stood frozen, his chest heaving, his dark eyes warring between the cold evidence in his hand and the broken, weeping woman standing before him.
Before he could speak, the door to the suite pushed open again, and Victoria Vance stepped inside, wrapped in a luxurious white fur coat, wearing an expression of profound, theatrical sorrow.
“Oh, Dominic,” Victoria sighed, walking gracefully into the room and placing a comforting hand on his arm. “I heard shouting from the hallway. Is it true? Was she the leak?”
Dominic didn't answer. He couldn't.
Victoria looked at Layla, her emerald eyes flashing with undisguised triumph. She lowered her voice just enough so only Layla could hear: “Game over, little maid.”
Layla looked at Dominic. She looked at Victoria. And then, a cold, unnatural calm settled over her. The fear vanished, replaced by a fierce, maternal survival instinct that burned brighter than any fire.
“Get out,” Layla said.
Dominic blinked. “Layla—”
“I said, get out of my room,” Layla shouted, her voice ringing with an authority that made even the armed guards step back. She pointed a trembling, steady finger toward the door. “You wanted me here as your prisoner, Dominic? Fine. But you don't get to look at me with disgust while you let a viper wrap herself around your neck. Get out of my sight before my children learn to hate your name before they’re even born.”
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Dominic flinched as if struck. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Turning abruptly, he stormed out of the room, the guards trailing nervously behind him, leaving Victoria standing alone with Layla for a final moment.
“Pack your bags, darling,” Victoria whispered sweetly. “The car is waiting downstairs to take you to a very nice, very quiet place where nobody will ever find you.”
