Layla's Pov

"Is this a joke?" I asked, my voice steady, even though my knuckles turned white as I clutched the paper tighter. The envelope trembled in my hands.

"I served this company tenaciously for more than four years, and this is what I get?"

I sat across from Jordan, my manager. A lanky man with greying temples and a fake-ass smile, seated comfortably in his office like he had no part in this.

"It's nothing personal, Layla. You know that. It's restructuring," he said with a sigh, getting up and walking to his cabinet to pour himself a drink.

Bullshit.

"Are you seriously going with that line?" I shot back, rising from my seat. "Because you and I both know that doesn't make any damn sense. The company wouldn't lay me off without a genuine reason."

"You'd be surprised how far a little... loyalty can go. To the right person," he said, swirling the drink in his glass like we were discussing the weather, not my job.

I narrowed my eyes. "I earned every promotion I got here. Through hard work. Not by crawling into people's beds."

"Don't be so dramatic," he muttered, sipping his drink. "Relax. I'm just saying... life's a lot easier when you stop pretending to be so righteous."

The disgust I felt bloomed in my chest and made it hard to breathe.

Noir Edge had a reputation for its condescending way of firing people. Word was the owner was mentally unstable, doing whatever he pleased whenever he pleased. But this? This wasn't just another cold corporate dismissal.

This was personal.

"Didn't I tell you that you'd regret choosing your boyfriend over me?" Jordan raised his glass again, that slimy glint in his eye igniting a fresh wave of anger inside me. "I bet you thought I was joking."

I clenched my jaw. . "He's not just my boyfriend. He's my fiancé. And unlike you, I don't cheat. I don't slither around behind people's backs hoping for pity sex like some washed-up creep."

"You better watch your mouth, bitch," he snapped, slamming the glass down harder than necessary. "Or I'll put it in place for you. You're not a saint, nor a virgin, so what's the big deal about what I asked for?"

I laughed. Not because it was funny but because it was so damn pathetic. "Everything is wrong with it, you sad excuse of a man. You really think I'd throw away my dignity for a promotion? You think I'd sleep with someone who clearly hasn't seen a gym in years, and whose wife probably prays you stay late at work just to catch a break from him?"

My hand was shaking as I jabbed a finger toward him. Rage pulsed through every inch of me. "You make me sick."

His expression darkened instantly. "I'm done bantering words with you. Now, get out of my office," he barked. "Before I ask security to throw you out."

He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, wincing as it burned his throat, but never breaking eye contact with me.

I blinked, holding back the tears stinging my eyes. I shoved the letter into my bag, turned toward the door, and gripped the handle tightly.

"I'll make sure you regret this day," I said, voice low but sharp. I looked back and locked eyes with him. "Mark my words."

He smirked, looking smug as hell. Like he'd just won something.

Of course he was glad. He'd been dying to get rid of me. I was a threat. He hated that I was outperforming him. The higher-ups noticed. And that scared the hell out of him.

That was definitely why he made me that disgusting offer in the first place. He knew I'd never accept it.

I stormed out of his office, ignoring the curious glances and low whispers from my colleagues. I walked straight into the elevator without glancing back. I didn't even bother to pack my desk. None of my essentials were there anyways.

My mind flickered back to the stupid man. He didn't even wait for me to get my paycheck before cutting me loose.

I had plans for that money. I wanted to stock the fridge, Pay half the rent. Maybe even surprise Ryan with takeout to celebrate our engagement.

I was one of the best PR managers they'd ever had. I had just completed a major project-the kind that brought international coverage. A project assigned by that same sorry excuse of a manager. And this... this was the thanks I got?

I walked.

And kept walking.

Past people scrolling through their phones. Past a couple giggling over coffee. Past a street musician singing a love song with too much honesty in his voice.

I couldn't bring myself to book a ride or even take the bus.

What the hell had just happened?

How did everything fall apart in less than thirty minutes?

But as shaken as I was, I didn't know my day was about to get worse. Much worse.

By the time I reached Ryan's apartment, my feet ached and my mind was numb. I just needed comfort. I needed someone to tell me I wasn't insane for standing my ground. I needed someone to press their lips to my temple and whisper, "Screw them, Layla. You're worth more than all of them combined."

Someone like Ryan.

He was the best decision I'd made since losing my parents. My constant in a chaotic life. The only person I could count on. My biggest cheerleader. My safe space.

I didn't knock. I never had to. Ryan gave me my own key months ago, told me his place was mine too. The door was unlocked, as usual. I slipped in quietly, planning to surprise him. Maybe cry in his arms.

The lights were dim. Soft music hummed from the speaker. But something was off-the scent in the air wasn't Ryan's usual cologne. It was stronger. Muskier. A second wine glass sat on the table next to his half-finished one.

Okay. Maybe he had a friend over. Dean? Or Alex? That made sense.

My heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as I walked further in.

"Ryan?" I called gently. "I'm home."

No response.

I turned the corner into the living room-

And froze. My heart slammed in my chest.

No. No, this wasn't happening. My brain tried to catch up with what I was seeing, but my eyes had already confirmed it.

This wasn't what it looked like... right?

Right?

My bag slipped off my shoulder and hit the floor with a thud. The sound didn't even make a dent in the sight in front of me. Maybe I was invisible. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Ryan was fucking a woman.