A Perfect Illusion

03

Layla sat cross-legged on the floor of her cramped apartment, surrounded by a disorganized pile of papers, photos, and hastily scribbled notes. Her dim desk lamp flickered occasionally, casting an eerie glow over the room. The quiet hum of the city outside was the only sound, but her mind was anything but quiet. Tonight, she was determined to piece together the puzzle—the one that had haunted her family for years.

She reached for the document she had photographed earlier: "Expansion Project: Confidential Stakeholders." The title alone made her stomach twist. As her eyes skimmed through the list of names, her hands trembled.

"No way," she whispered, her breath catching. Her father had spoken of these names before—the powerful families who had turned their backs on him during his company’s downfall. And there, nestled among them, was her family’s company—listed not as a collaborator, but as an asset to be acquired.

Her mind raced. Why would an expansion project involve transferring ownership? The thought lingered like a bitter taste in her mouth.

She muttered to herself, "This isn’t expansion; it’s eradication. They’re not growing… they’re devouring."

Next, her eyes darted to the photo of the industrial site she had also managed to snap. It was tucked into the same folder, almost like an afterthought. But to Layla, it wasn’t just any site.

"This…" She pulled the photo closer, her heart pounding. The worn brick facade, the towering smokestacks—it all matched the descriptions her father used to share.

“This is where it all started,” he’d said countless times with pride. “This is where we built everything from the ground up.”

Layla clenched the photo tightly, her knuckles turning white. Her father had spoken of the betrayal, of how everything was stripped away under the guise of partnership. And now, to see this place tied to Dante’s family? It was no coincidence.

She scribbled a quick note on a scrap of paper. "Investigate this location. Why is it part of the expansion project? What’s its significance now?"

Her focus shifted to the third piece of evidence: the diagram from Dante’s board. It was a web of arrows and names, each line connecting powerful families and companies. At the center were the Alarics—Dante’s family. But off to the side, nearly forgotten, was her own family’s name.

"They shoved us into a corner," she muttered, tracing the lines with her finger. "Every arrow points back to them. They didn’t just betray us; they isolated us."

The realization was like a slap to the face. Her father had always said it was more than just business. "They didn’t want competition," he’d claimed. "They wanted dominance. And they used everyone around them to get it."

Layla grabbed a marker and scrawled on a piece of paper: "FIND MERGER DOCUMENTS. Look for legal records. When did this happen? How did they pull it off?"

With her evidence gathered, Layla pushed the clutter aside and began organizing her findings into a makeshift map on her living room floor. In the center, she placed the photo of the "Expansion Project" document, underlined multiple times in red ink.

To the left, she placed the industrial site photo with a caption:

"Why is this location still relevant? What’s its role now?"

To the right, she added a diagram of the merger connections. Her notes surrounded it like a storm cloud:

"How did they convince the other families? What promises were made? Where are the weak points?"

Beneath it all, she added a blank section labeled "Future Evidence Needed." She scrawled a list underneath:

1. Internal emails or communications about the Expansion Project.

2. Financial records showing asset transfers.

3. Personal connections between the Alarics and other families.

Layla leaned back against the wall, staring at the chaotic map she’d created. Her chest felt tight, a mix of anger, fear, and determination swelling inside her.

"It’s too much," she whispered, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. "How did it get this complicated?"

But even as doubt crept in, she couldn’t shake the voice in her head—the voice of her father, urging her to keep going. She dropped her hands and let out a bitter laugh.

"Of course it’s complicated," she muttered to herself. "When has anything ever been easy?" Her gaze hardened as she stared at the map. "But this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about him. About everything they stole."

She grabbed her pen and underlined one final note on her map:

"Expose the Alarics. Expose Dante."

For a moment, she allowed herself to smirk. "Let’s see how you like it when someone plays your game, Dante. The pieces are on the board now. I just have to move them."

But deep down, Layla knew this was only the beginning. The weight of what lay ahead felt crushing. She’d have to be smart, careful, and relentless. There was no room for error—not when the stakes were this high.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, throwing her pen across the room. "This is so much harder than I thought."

The silence that followed was heavy, but Layla’s resolve remained. She stared at her map, her fists clenched.

"This is just the start," she said aloud, her voice firm. "You’ve taken enough from us. Now, it’s my turn."

...

Layla hummed softly to herself, the rhythmic swish of the mop against the gleaming floor almost meditative. The executive floor was unnervingly pristine, each surface polished to perfection, but that didn’t stop her from doing her job with meticulous care. She glanced at Amel, her cleaning partner for the shift, who was wiping down the ornate banisters nearby.

“You know,” Layla began, wringing the mop out, “this floor is so shiny, you could probably eat off it. Not that anyone here would, of course. Too busy eating off gold plates, I bet.”

Amel snorted. “You’re not wrong. The executives up here probably don’t even notice us. We’re like background furniture.”

Layla smirked, leaning on the mop handle. “I’d rather be background furniture than one of them, honestly. Imagine all the stress that comes with trying to look important all the time.”

Amel chuckled. “True. I mean, did you see Mr. Evans the other day? He was shouting about losing his pen. A pen, Layla. I thought he was going to pop a vein.”

Layla laughed softly, shaking her head. “Must’ve been a really nice pen. Gold-plated or something.”

Their quiet banter was interrupted by a commotion near the reception desk. Layla’s attention snapped to the source of the noise: a tall, striking woman with cascading waves of blonde hair arguing with Dante’s secretary, Clara. The woman’s voice was sharp and demanding, cutting through the quiet atmosphere of the executive floor like a knife.

“I need to see Dante now,” the woman insisted, her perfectly manicured hands clutching a designer handbag. “I don’t have time to play games.”

Clara, ever composed in her tailored suit, held her ground. “I’m sorry, Ms. Nancy, but Mr. Dante’s schedule is fully booked today. You’ll need to make an appointment like everyone else.”

Nancy’s lips curled into a sneer. “I’m not just anyone else. Dante will want to see me.”

Layla paused mid-swipe, her brows furrowing as she watched the scene unfold. Beside her, Amel leaned closer, whispering, “Nancy Hamilton. She’s some influencer or model or something. Word is, she’s been chasing Dante for months.”

“Chasing him?” Layla echoed, her voice laced with incredulity. She glanced back at Nancy, who was now gesturing dramatically. “What’s so special about him that women are fighting to get on his calendar?”

Amel shrugged. “You’ve seen him. Tall, rich, handsome. The whole package. Plus, he’s a CEO. Some women can’t resist the power thing.”

Layla snorted, muttering under her breath, “Must be nice to have people throwing themselves at you while you ruin other people’s lives.”

Clara’s voice rose slightly, firm but still polite. “As I said, Ms. Nancy, you need to schedule an appointment. Mr. Dante is in back-to-back meetings, and I cannot let you disrupt him.”

Nancy’s perfectly arched brows knitted together in frustration. “Do you have any idea who I am? I could ruin your career with one call.”

Clara’s expression didn’t falter. “I’m simply doing my job. If you’d like, I can put you on the waiting list for next week.”

Nancy huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Unbelievable.”

Layla rolled her eyes, returning to her mopping. “Unbelievable is right,” she muttered under her breath. “Imagine fighting over someone like Dante. What’s next? Fainting at the sight of his coffee cup?”

Amel stifled a laugh, whispering, “Careful, or she might hear you. She’s got the kind of vibe that screams ‘lawsuit.’”

Layla smirked but said nothing, keeping her focus on the floor. Still, her mind buzzed with irritation. It wasn’t just Nancy’s dramatic entrance that irked her—it was the audacity of it all. Here she was, cleaning up after people who barely noticed her, while someone like Nancy waltzed in demanding attention like the world owed her something. And all for Dante, of all people.

As Nancy stormed away, her heels clicking angrily against the tiles, Layla couldn’t help but glance at Clara. The secretary exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples before returning to her desk.

“Poor Clara,” Amel whispered. “I don’t know how she deals with people like that all day.”

Layla nodded in agreement, her grip tightening on the mop handle. “She’s got patience, that’s for sure. If it were me, I’d have lost it by now.”

Amel smirked. “Good thing it’s not you, then. You’d probably mop the floor with her.”

Layla chuckled softly, though the humor quickly faded. She cast another glance at the now-empty reception area, her thoughts drifting back to Nancy’s words and Clara’s composed response. She didn’t know what annoyed her more: the entitlement of people like Nancy or the fact that Dante’s life seemed to revolve around luxury, power, and drama while hers was consumed by mops and secrets.

“It’s just another day,” Layla muttered to herself, pushing the mop forward. But deep down, she knew it was anything but.

The heated argument between Nancy and Clara had escalated to a full-blown scene just outside Dante’s office. Nancy’s voice, high-pitched and insistent, echoed in the executive hall.

“Clara, I deserve to see Dante! We’ve known each other for years! You can’t just block me because I didn’t schedule some silly appointment.” Nancy’s manicured nails waved in frustration as she glared at Dante’s secretary.

Clara stood firm, arms crossed, her professionalism unwavering. “I’ve already told you, Miss Nancy, Mr. Dante’s schedule is full today. If you’d like to book a time, you can do so through the official channels. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Nancy stepped closer, blocking Clara’s path. “Oh, come on. Do you even know who I am? I’ve modeled for half of the magazines in this city. Dante wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near where he is without women like me supporting him at events. I demand you let me in right now!”

Layla, standing several feet away with her mop and bucket, exchanged a look with Amel, her cleaning partner. Amel’s brow rose in bemusement as she leaned closer to whisper.

“Unbelievable. These people will do anything to claw their way in,” Amel said, rolling her eyes.

Layla snorted under her breath, wiping down the same patch of floor she’d already cleaned twice. “Yeah, as if Dante is worth that much effort. Look at her, acting like he’s the last man alive.” Her muttered words were laced with sarcasm, though her eyes flicked toward Nancy out of curiosity.

Nancy’s loud scoff cut through their private commentary. She had stepped closer to Clara, practically hovering, as though sheer force of will would get her through the door.

“If this keeps up, she’ll start throwing things,” Layla whispered.

Amel grinned. “Place your bets. I’m saying two more minutes before she’s escorted out.”

Before Layla could reply, the door to Dante’s office swung open, revealing both Dante and Victor stepping out. Their presence immediately silenced the hallway. Dante’s imposing figure, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, commanded attention, while Victor’s ever-watchful expression scanned the area.

Nancy’s demeanor shifted in an instant. Her shrill tone was replaced by a syrupy sweetness as she stepped toward Dante. “Dante, finally! I’ve been trying to see you all day.” She wrapped her arms around him, her embrace a little too tight and far too intimate, her body leaning into his.

Layla’s nose wrinkled as she watched, feeling a wave of secondhand discomfort. “Eugh,” she muttered under her breath, exchanging a disgusted glance with Amel.

Dante, however, didn’t reciprocate. He stiffened, his hands moving to gently but firmly push Nancy away. “Nancy, this is inappropriate,” he said flatly, his sharp tone cutting through the air.

Nancy pouted, clearly thrown off by his rejection. “Oh, don’t be like that,” she cooed, reaching for his arm again.

Dante sidestepped her, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “I’m busy.”

Layla, still watching the exchange from a distance, found herself staring. The sight of Dante’s obvious discomfort was unexpectedly… amusing. She caught herself smirking just as Dante’s gaze shifted. Their eyes locked.

Her heart jumped. She immediately turned away, pretending to be engrossed in scrubbing the floor. She felt her cheeks heat, silently cursing herself for getting caught. But her act of nonchalance didn’t fool Dante. His footsteps echoed as he strode toward her.

“Layla,” his deep voice called out, firm and commanding. Before she could react, she felt his hand wrap around her wrist.

“Hey!” Layla yelped, dropping her mop as Dante began to pull her toward his office. “What the hell are you doing? Let me go!”

The hallway fell silent. Amel stared, wide-eyed. Nancy looked utterly baffled, her jaw dropping as she watched Dante’s unusual behavior. Even Victor, who rarely showed surprise, furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Dante,” Victor started, stepping forward as if to intervene. “What’s going on?”

Dante turned, his expression unreadable but final. “This is between me and Layla. No one else.”

Victor hesitated, glancing at Layla’s bewildered face before nodding reluctantly. “Understood.”

Nancy’s outrage erupted. “Excuse me? Who is she?” she demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Layla. “Why does she get to go in there?”

Dante ignored her, pulling Layla into the office and shutting the door firmly behind them. Layla, now free from the stunned stares of the hallway, yanked her wrist out of his grip.

Layla stumbled into Dante’s office, her frustration spilling over the moment the door clicked shut behind them.

“What the hell was that for?” she snapped, wrenching her arm free from Dante’s grip. “You can’t just drag people around like—”

Before she could finish, Dante’s hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Layla’s eyes widened, and she froze mid-protest. His face was only inches from hers, his sharp, focused gaze boring into her as if daring her to make another sound. She could feel his steady breath and the warmth of his hand against her lips.

The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of the clock on Dante’s desk. For a moment, neither of them moved. Layla’s heart raced, and despite her irritation, she couldn’t break eye contact. Dante seemed to realize the tension at the same time she did. He cleared his throat, abruptly pulling his hand away and stepping back.

“Stop squirming and listen for once,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual. His gaze flickered away briefly, and he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to regain composure.

Layla’s mouth fell open, but her sharp retort died on her tongue when Dante suddenly fixed her with a scathing look. “You… you’re so thin it’s like looking at a walking skeleton. Do you even eat?”

Layla’s shock gave way to indignation. “Excuse me?”

Dante ignored her protest, pointing at the lunch box sitting on his desk. “Sit down and eat. Now.”

Layla crossed her arms, her brows furrowing. “I’m not hungry,” she lied. Her stomach had been growling for the past hour, but there was no way she’d let him boss her around.

Dante raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Layla. Sit. Eat. Here.”

“I’ll eat later,” she shot back. “I was planning to have lunch with Amel. You know, my friend? Not that you care.”

“Victor can deal with Amel,” Dante said flatly, cutting her off. “You’re eating here. Now.”

Layla gaped at him, exasperated. “Do you always have to boss everyone around? What if I say no?”

Dante leaned against his desk, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Try it and see what happens.”

Layla threw her hands up. “You… are impossible,” she muttered, stomping over to the desk. She grabbed the lunch box and dropped into the chair with a dramatic huff. “Fine. But don’t think for a second I’m doing this because you told me to.”

Dante rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. He watched her silently, leaning back against the desk as Layla opened the lunch box and poked at its contents. It was a neatly packed meal, probably courtesy of Clara.

“Is this Clara’s idea of bribery?” Layla muttered under her breath, but she reluctantly took a bite. To her annoyance, the food was delicious.

“Stop mumbling and eat properly,” Dante said, his tone bordering on amused. “You act like I’m forcing you to do hard labor.”

Layla shot him a glare. “You kind of are. I’m perfectly capable of eating wherever I want, you know. This… is just unnecessary power-tripping.”

“Keep talking,” Dante said, his smirk returning. “You’re more tolerable when your mouth is full.”

Layla’s jaw dropped, and she almost choked on her food. She swallowed hard, then glared at him. “You’re lucky I don’t throw this at you.”

Dante shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ll just make you clean it up.”

Layla gritted her teeth, opting to focus on her food instead of his infuriating face. As she ate, her eyes drifted around the room. She noted the neatly stacked files on the desk, the locked cabinet near the corner, and the faintly glowing screen of Dante’s tablet. Her mind began racing.

“If I can distract him somehow, maybe I could get a closer look at that tablet,” she thought, keeping her expression neutral. She shoved another bite of food into her mouth to mask her scheming.

“Better?” Dante’s voice broke into her thoughts. He was watching her with an unreadable expression, his usual sharpness tempered by something softer.

Layla rolled her eyes. “Sure. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said dryly. He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. “At least you’re not fainting from starvation anymore.”

Layla couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or sarcastic. She decided it didn’t matter. “Well, if you’re done micromanaging my lunch, can I go now? Or is there some other random decree you want to issue?”

Dante’s lips twitched, but he said nothing. Instead, he gestured toward the door. “You can leave. For now.”

Layla stood, carefully closing the lunch box and placing it back on the desk. As she turned to go, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the tablet again. Her fingers itched, but she knew she’d need a better plan.

“Thanks for the food, Your Highness,” she said sarcastically as she headed for the door.

Dante chuckled softly. “Don’t get used to it, skeleton.”

Layla resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. As she stepped into the hallway, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her mind was already working overtime, piecing together her next move.