Chapter Three—The supposed distraction
1107 Words
Henry should have said no.
He knew it the moment the word left his mouth.
When Miriam suggested he show Layla around the house, he should have declined. Instead, he caught Layla’s eyes across the breakfast table—wide, wary, far too expressive—and something inside him slipped. He wanted to be near her.
So he agreed.
Now he sat rigid in his chair, jaw tight, stabbing his fork into his food with more force than necessary. Across from him, Layla pretended he didn’t exist, pushing peas around her plate as if they were personally offensive.
She felt him looking.
He knew she did.
The memory of the towel clung to him like a bruise he kept pressing. Her surprise. The bare skin he hadn’t been prepared for. The way his body had reacted before his mind could intervene.
And worse—last night.
Standing outside her door. Hearing her. Wanting her.
It had been a mistake. A serious one.
Henry prided himself on control. On discipline. On knowing where lines were and never crossing them. But Layla was dismantling that calm piece by piece, simply by existing in his space.
This was bad. He needed distance. And he needed it fast.
---
Miriam’s phone rang mid-breakfast.
The hospital.
An emergency.
She stood quickly, kissed Layla’s forehead, then leaned over and kissed Henry’s cheek. Layla noticed. The flash of irritation that passed through her surprised her.
Miriam was gone within minutes.
The house fell quiet.
Layla hovered at the bottom of the stairs, keys twisting nervously in her fingers. “You really don’t have to show me around,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll figure things out.”
Henry leaned against the wall, arms folded, posture deceptively relaxed. “Well, mom asked me to,” he replied. “So I will.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Fine.”
They walked.
Room after room. Hallways. Offices. Spaces that blurred together because Layla wasn’t really seeing any of them. She was acutely aware of Henry beside her—his presence heavy, controlled, restrained.
He kept a respectable distance. It didn’t help.
Every accidental brush of air, every shift in his stance, made her skin prickle.
They stopped at the last door.
Henry hesitated.
“This is my room,” he said.
Something shifted in the air. His space. His scent—clean, warm, faintly masculine—lingered at the doorway.
Layla nodded quickly. “Okay.”
She turned to leave.
“Layla.”
She paused.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Henry said quietly. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was surprised. That’s all.”
The apology caught her off guard. She turned back, studying his face, looking for mockery or arrogance—and finding neither.
“You have a boyfriend,” he added after a moment.
“Yes,” she answered, confused. “Why?”
He didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed, his eyes darkening with something unreadable.
“I just needed to know.”
Then he closed the distance.
It happened fast—too fast for either of them to think. His mouth met hers with intent, warmth, restraint snapping all at once. Layla’s back hit the wall as his hands found her waist, holding her there like he’d been fighting that moment and finally lost.
The kiss was consuming. Certain. Dangerous.
Her thoughts scattered.
Then reality crashed in.
She pulled away, breathless, shaken. “Don’t ever touch me again,” she said, voice trembling. “I have a boyfriend. I love him.”
She didn’t wait for Henry’s reaction.
She ran.
Henry stood there angry at himself. What had he just done? His control rarely slipped. But since Layla walked through that door, control had become a constant battle.
---
Layla locked herself in her room, heart racing, lips swollen, guilt and desire warring inside her chest. She needed distance—from Henry, from the house, from the confusion twisting her insides.
She had to get away from Henry.
Immediately.
She planned on visiting Ceaser in a week's time. She had not told him yet though. The visit was supposed to be a surprise.
She would call Stacey.
Yes. Stacey was safer. Stacey would distract her. She freshened up and combed her hair. Stacey was smart and would catch on if she saw her this way.
Thirty minutes later, Stacey arrived in her usual burst of energy, hugging Layla tightly. Layla showed her around, forcing a calm she didn’t feel.
“So,” Stacey said with a grin, “where’s the infamous hot stepbrother?”
Right on cue, Henry descended the stairs.
He greeted Stacey politely.
She stared openly.
Stacey never hid her interest. She laughed too loudly, touched his arm too easily, leaned into him like gravity pulled her there.
Layla’s stomach tightened.
Why did this bother her?
Maybe she should leave both of them together, Layla thought to herself.
“I’ll make biscuits,” Layla announced abruptly, stepping into the kitchen. “For everyone.”
She prayed Stacey did her job well. She needed to make sure he was smitten by her.
Despite the rationality, jealousy gnawed at her chest. She needed to control herself. She kept repeating to herself that this was for the best. A distraction for Henry, so she wouldn't be tempted into cheating on Ceaser.
She made sure preparing the biscuits took more time than necessary.
When she came back to the sitting room, Henry had moved to the other side of the sofa. Stacey was trying so hard to get his attention. She even pulled her skirt high so her thighs were showing, but he didn’t even look her way.
Her plan didn’t seem to be working. Layla was disappointed and at the same time a tiny part of her was relieved.
She entered the room and passed the biscuits.
They ate.
“These are really good,” Henry said.
“She’s great in the kitchen,” Stacey added brightly.
Layla forced a smile, then yawned exaggeratedly. “I’m tired.”
She stood to leave, deliberately giving them space.
Henry rose as well, murmuring something about work. She didn’t even know he worked. But then, he looked upset. Layla wondered what had happened. Maybe he got a text from work. Maybe Stacey said something that offended him.
Stacey herself looked disappointed.
When Layla prodded Stacey, she swore she didn’t know why he was suddenly upset.
They changed the subject and Layla began showing Stacey around the house, half-mindedly.
She really wanted to know what was going on in Henry's mind. What got him so upset? And what kind of job did he do?
- Writer
