Chapter 2: THE PROPOSAL
1211 Words
I burst out a loud, wild laugh, the kind that comes from pure disbelief.
“This must be a prank,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Did my dad send you? He’s not really dead, is he? This is just one of his many mind games. His way of punishing me for running away.” I sat up straight and extended my cuffed hands to him. “Fine. You got me. Can you release me now? I have work to do.”
He stared at me, completely straight‑faced.“This isn’t a joke, Layla. Your father owes me money. Two hundred million. I don’t care that he’s dead. I want every single cent back.”
My face fell as I realized his seriousness. “So he’s really dead?”
“Yes.”
My heart sank as the weight of those words slammed into me, even harder than when I first heard it on the news.
Out of nowhere, a sudden surge of fury rushed through me, one I didn’t even know was there.
“Then why are you here?!” I demanded, fire blazing in every word. “You’ve seen my life. I don’t have two hundred million dollars lying around.”
“Your dad left a will,” Dean replied, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other with easy calm. “Assets worth over five hundred million. And every last thing was willed to you.”
My eyes widened in shock. Victor Rogan? The man who probably hated me as much as I hated him. There was no f*****g way. This was definitely a sick joke.
“That’s impossible,” I shook my head. “He has a wife.” The word ‘wife’ left a bitter taste in my mouth’
“That little thing?” he scoffed, taking a slow, almost taunting sip of the champagne. “He married her just to annoy you. He stopped caring the moment you ran away. Everything is yours.”
Hot anger shot through my chest at this revelation. Tears gathered in my eyes so much my vision blurred. “He let my mother kill herself,” I breathed, blinking rapidly. “All for some stupid game?”
My voice croacked as rage overtook me. “And you knew!” I snapped, “You knew, and you let him!”
His expression shifted, the first hint of discomfort I’d seen. “I had no idea he was having an affair,” he said quietly. “Not until after your mother died. I’m… I’m sorry about your mom.”
I paused for a moment, thinking about the kind of monster my dad truly was. Maybe he really did deserve to die.
“Great,” I whispered, steadying my shaky voice in a bid to control my emotions. “You can have the money then. All of it. I want nothing from him.”
He sighed, lifting his glass again, pausing halfway as he traced the rim with careful, deliberate circles.
“That’s the issue. For you to access the will, you must be married… and have a child. All within one year.”
He pulled out his phone, scrolling as if searching for something crucial.
“All the wedding arrangements have been made. The invitations have already gone out, guests confirmed. All you need to do is show up and become Mrs. Luther. “
He lifted his attention from his phone, his magnetic hazel eyes holding mine.
“And once you give me a child and I get my money, you can choose to leave… or stay.” His smirk sharpened the last word.
I shot him a cold glare, irritation settling in my chest like a stone dropping to the bottom of a well.
This is the exact reason I escaped that life. I was tired of the bullying, tired of being pushed around. There was no way I was going back.
“Victor really thinks he can control me from the grave,” I muttered. “But that ends here.”
“I’m not doing this. I don’t owe you anything, and I’m not involved in his mess. If you want the will, figure it out yourself and leave me out of it.”
Dean didn’t utter a word at first. He just stared ahead, his expression empty, and unreadable.
“Okay,” he finally said in the most casual tone imaginable. He slid his hands into his pocket and pulled out a tiny key.
“I’ll let you get back to work.” He leaned toward me and unfastened the handcuffs with a quiet click.
I blinked, genuinely surprised. That was it? No fight? No warning?
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly, scratching my head in confusion as I reached for the door.
Just as my hand touched the handle, he spoke.
“Layla Smith,” he dragged my name out slowly in an eerily smooth manner. “Cute,” he added with a dry low laugh. “Although I wonder what your dear friends would think when they find out your real name is actually Layla Rogan.”
I paused for a long moment, letting my hand fall freely from the car door.
‘Did he really think that would work?’
The silliness of it made a quiet scoffing laugh roll from my chest, trembling through my shoulders.
“Bravo, Dean!” I sang with mock praise, clapping my hands together as short bursts of laughter caught me between words.
“I mean you’re right about one thing.” I smiled wickedly enjoying the shock on his face. “I’m Layla Rogan, daughter of a notorious mafia king. Which makes this pathetic little attempt at a threat… very disappointing.”
I reached for the champagne bottle, and poured it into the second glass, a slow smile tugging at my lips as I watched the liquid rise to the brim. “Let’s not pretend okay?You’ve got a lot more to lose than I do. Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here?” I asked, letting my eyes sweep around for emphasis.
Dean didn’t say a word. He just sat there staring daggers at me, so furious I could practically see the smoke rising off him.
It felt incredible having the upper hand.
“I have no family. No real friends,” I said, leaning forward, and meeting his murderous gaze without flinching. “So do whatever you want. I’m still not doing this.”
I grabbed the door handle, the latch clicking as I pushed it open one last time. Before stepping out, I glanced over my shoulder. “I really do hope you get your money back. Goodbye, Dean,” I whispered gently, my voice almost pitiful as I got down and shut the door firmly behind me.
The men standing by the car stared at me, confusion written all over their faces.
“Bye, boys,” I waved with a smirk, taking a few confident steps away from the car and toward the road.
I had barely made it halfway across when a loud c***k ripped through the air.
Something hot and fast sliced past my cheek, and a split second later, one of the guards behind me dropped with a heavy thud.
- Writer
