A Perfect Illusion

01

Layla stirred, her head pounding as the sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains. The bed she lay on was the softest she’d ever felt, the sheets cool against her skin. Blinking groggily, she sat up, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her surroundings came into focus: a spacious room adorned with elegant furnishings, walls painted in muted tones, and a massive window that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

"What the…?" she murmured, clutching her head. This definitely wasn’t her room. It wasn’t even her world. Everything about this place screamed luxury—the kind she’d only seen in movies or glossy magazines.

Her heart raced as she frantically scanned the room for her belongings. Spotting her bag on a nearby armchair, she scrambled out of bed and rummaged through it until she found her phone. The screen lit up, displaying dozens of missed calls and messages. Most were from her father.

"s**t," she hissed, her stomach sinking. She could already hear his voice in her head, scolding her for her recklessness. “I’m so dead.”

She flopped back onto the bed, clutching the phone to her chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Layla?” she muttered to herself. “Drinking with strangers? Going to a bar alone? You’re an idiot.”

A soft knock at the door made her jump. Before she could respond, it creaked open, revealing a stunning woman with sleek black hair tied into a loose bun. She wore an oversized sweater and shorts, looking effortlessly chic even in her casual attire. In her hands was a steaming mug.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the woman said with a warm smile. “I was about to come check on you. You had quite the night.”

Layla stared at her, wide-eyed and wary. “Uh, hi. Where am I?”

The woman stepped into the room, setting the mug on the bedside table. “You’re in Dante’s apartment. I’m Eliza, by the way. Victor’s girlfriend.”

“Victor?” Layla repeated, the name not ringing a bell.

Eliza laughed softly. “The guy who was with Dante last night. They brought you here after things got… complicated at the bar.”

Layla’s stomach churned as fragments of the previous night began to surface in her mind. The drink, the crowd, the stranger who wouldn’t leave her alone… Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh my God,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This can’t be happening.”

Eliza pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing her legs. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. Dante’s… intense, but he’d never let anything happen to you. He’s the one who noticed you were in trouble.”

At the mention of Dante’s name, Layla’s heart skipped a beat. Images of his face flashed in her mind, sharper and clearer than anything else. She’d recognize those piercing eyes anywhere.

“Wait,” she said, sitting up straight. “Dante was there? He… he brought me here?”

Eliza tilted her head, studying Layla curiously. “You know him?”

“I…” Layla hesitated, the words catching in her throat. Did she know him? It felt more like she’d been haunted by the memory of him for years. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, complicated or not, he was pretty adamant about making sure you were okay,” Eliza said. “He’s not usually the knight-in-shining-armor type, so consider yourself lucky.”

Layla’s head spun. Of all the people to find her like this, it had to be him. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, suddenly desperate to leave. “I should go. I… I need to call my dad and—”

“Relax,” Eliza said gently. “You look like you’re about to pass out again. At least have something to drink first.” She nodded toward the mug. “It’s tea. Good for hangovers.”

Layla reluctantly picked up the mug, the warmth seeping into her hands. She took a small sip, the herbal aroma soothing her nerves. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“No problem.” Eliza stood, smoothing down her sweater. “If you need anything, just shout. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

As Eliza left the room, Layla’s thoughts raced. Her embarrassment was quickly being overshadowed by a growing sense of dread. She’d come to the bar with a plan, a mission to confront Dante and take back what was stolen from her family. But instead, she’d ended up here, in his home, completely vulnerable.

Her grip tightened on the mug. “You’re such an i***t,” she muttered to herself. “How could you let this happen?”

...

The next day, Layla’s stomach churned as she walked into the bakery where she worked. The familiar smell of fresh bread and pastries did little to calm her nerves. She was already dreading this shift, knowing her boss, Mr. Carson, wouldn’t let her tardiness slide. As she stepped through the door, his sharp voice greeted her.

“Layla!” Mr. Carson barked from behind the counter. “In my office. Now.”

The other employees glanced at her sympathetically, but no one dared intervene. Layla swallowed hard, her feet feeling like lead as she walked into the cramped office. Mr. Carson stood with his arms crossed, his face red with anger.

“Do you have any idea how unprofessional this is?” he snapped. “Showing up late, not answering your phone. You’re supposed to be reliable, Layla, but this… this is the last straw.”

Layla’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Something came up—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” he interrupted. “This is your last day here. I need someone I can count on, and clearly, that’s not you.”

Tears stung Layla’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She nodded silently, her head bowed, as Mr. Carson dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Back on the floor, she tried to focus on her tasks, cleaning the counters and arranging the display, but her hands trembled. The other employees whispered among themselves, their pitying glances making her feel even smaller. As she wiped down a table, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilled over.

“Stupid Dante,” she muttered under her breath, scrubbing the table with more force than necessary. “This is all his fault.”

“Hey,” a soft voice said beside her. Layla looked up to see Mia, one of her coworkers, holding a tray of croissants. “You okay?”

Layla wiped her tears away roughly. “I’m fine.”

Mia set the tray down and placed a comforting hand on Layla’s shoulder. “You’re not fine, but it’s okay to not be fine. Mr. Carson’s an ass. You’ll find another job, I know you will.”

Layla forced a bitter laugh. “Yeah, because jobs just fall out of the sky, right?”

Mia smiled gently. “Hey, you never know. You’re hardworking and smart. Someone’s bound to see that. Don’t let this place get to you.”

Layla nodded, though she didn’t feel comforted. Deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was spiraling, and there was no way out.

...

Layla locked the restroom door behind her, her shaky hands fumbling with the latch. The moment it clicked shut, she leaned heavily against the door, her breath coming in uneven gasps. The small, dimly lit space was suffocating, but it was the only place she could fall apart without anyone watching.

Sliding down to the cold tile floor, she hugged her knees to her chest, the ache in her heart growing heavier with each passing second. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as they spilled over, trailing down her cheeks in hot, relentless streams. She buried her face in her arms, muffling the choked sobs that shook her body.

"What the hell am I doing?" she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. Her mind was a chaotic mess of regret, anger, and hopelessness. The events of the past 24 hours replayed in her head like a cruel highlight reel—the bar, the stranger forcing her to drink, Dante's face, waking up in that unfamiliar, luxurious apartment, and now losing her job.

"How did I let it get this bad?" she muttered bitterly, her nails digging into the fabric of her work pants. She thought of her father and the countless missed calls on her phone. She could practically hear his disappointment, his stern voice lecturing her on responsibility. The thought made her stomach twist painfully.

"I’ve ruined everything," she choked out, her tears flowing harder. "I was supposed to make things better, not worse."

Her thoughts turned to Dante, and her fists clenched tightly. "This is all your fault," she growled under her breath, though deep down, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. She had made the choice to go to the bar, to take risks she wasn’t ready for. Still, the sight of him had thrown her off balance, reopening old wounds she thought had healed.

But it wasn’t just Dante. It was everything. The weight of years of struggle, of trying to keep her head above water, had finally come crashing down. The bakery job had been her lifeline, and now it was gone. She thought of Mia’s comforting words earlier and scoffed bitterly. "Just find another job? Sure. Like it’s that easy."

The sobs came in waves, each one more gut-wrenching than the last. Her chest ached as she cried, the kind of crying that left no room for composure or dignity. It was raw, unfiltered pain, the kind she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. For years, she had been the one to hold things together, to stay strong for her father, to pretend everything was fine even when it wasn’t. But now, there was nothing left to hold on to.

Minutes passed—or maybe it was hours. Time felt meaningless in the small, fluorescent-lit restroom. When her sobs finally subsided into quiet sniffles, Layla wiped her face with trembling hands. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks raw from the salty tears. She felt drained, like a hollow shell of herself.

Staggering to her feet, she gripped the sink for support. The mirror reflected a version of her she barely recognized. Red, puffy eyes stared back at her, framed by disheveled hair and smudged makeup. She turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face, hoping to wash away some of the evidence of her breakdown.

"Pull it together," she whispered to her reflection, her voice hoarse. "You can’t fall apart now. Not here."

But even as she said it, she knew it was easier said than done. How could she possibly pull herself together when everything around her was crumbling? Her job was gone, her father was likely furious, and the thought of facing Dante again made her stomach churn with a mix of anger and humiliation.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture and smoothed down her wrinkled uniform. "One step at a time," she told herself. "You’ve been through worse."

Yet the words felt hollow, like a mantra she didn’t quite believe. With a final glance in the mirror, Layla unlocked the door and stepped back into the bakery. The bustling noise of the shop hit her like a wall, a stark contrast to the suffocating silence of the restroom. She kept her head down, avoiding the curious gazes of her coworkers as she returned to her station.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur, each task a mechanical motion she performed on autopilot. But inside, the storm raged on, a constant reminder that she was standing on shaky ground with no idea how to steady herself.

...

Layla slumped back against the restroom door, her face still damp from splashing water to calm herself. The weight in her chest felt marginally lighter, but her mind was a storm of worry. What was she supposed to do now? Her eyes darted to her phone sitting on the sink, screen glowing with a notification. For a moment, she hesitated before unlocking it, bracing herself for another missed call from her dad or, worse, a message from Mr. Carson rubbing salt in the wound.

Instead, it was an alert from a job search app she’d half-heartedly downloaded weeks ago.

New Opportunity: Cleaning Staff Needed at Alarics Company.

Layla’s heart stopped. She stared at the name in bold letters: Alarics Company. Dante’s family empire.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, picking up the phone. Her thumb hovered over the notification, thoughts colliding in her mind. There was no way she’d willingly step into Dante’s world again. She’d already had enough humiliation to last a lifetime.

But then, like a thread being pulled loose, another thought began to unravel. She could almost hear her father’s voice from years ago, filled with bitterness and resignation: "They took everything from us, Sienna. Everything."

She chewed her bottom lip, staring at the job listing as if it held all the answers to her unraveling life. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be working directly with him,” she reasoned aloud, her voice shaky. “It’s a cleaning job. What are the chances he’d even know I’m there?”

Her phone buzzed again, snapping her out of her thoughts. This time it was a message from Mia:

Mia: "Hey, I know today was rough, but keep your head up, okay? Something better’s coming. I can feel it."

Layla’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though her heart still felt heavy. She looked back at the job listing, her fingers trembling slightly as she tapped on it to read the full description. The pay wasn’t amazing, but it wasn’t bad either—better than what she’d been making at the bakery. And the location was only a few blocks from her apartment. The logical part of her mind whispered that it made sense. It was just a job, after all.

But the other part of her—the part that burned with unresolved anger and determination—saw this as something more. A door had been cracked open, leading directly into Dante’s fortress. It wasn’t just about the job; it was about the opportunity to see for herself what had been taken from her family. Maybe even to take some of it back.

She leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection. Her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen from crying, but there was a flicker of something else in her expression now—resolve.

“So this is how it starts,” she murmured to herself. “You think you’ve won, Dante? Well, let’s see how you handle this.”

She hit the “Apply” button before she could talk herself out of it, and then exhaled a shaky breath. The die was cast. Whatever came next, she’d deal with it. For now, she wiped the last traces of tears from her face and pocketed her phone, the faintest hint of a smile curving her lips.

“Let’s see who gets the last laugh,” she said softly, her reflection staring back at her with a mix of trepidation and fierce determination. The universe might have just handed her the chance she’d been waiting for.