Chapter Five—
1067 Words
HENRY
“Who hurt you?”
The question ripped out of me before I could think—sharp, furious, violent. I heard the anger in my own voice and hated that it made her flinch tighter against me.
God.
“Layla, what happened to you?” I asked again.
But she wouldn't talk, still clinging to me like she was drowning, shaking so hard I felt each tremor through my chest. Her fingers twisted in my shirt, her tears soaking through the fabric. I didn’t care. I didn’t even breathe.
All I could think was—this is my fault.
I’d been cold to her for days. Short. Irritated. Snapping at her. Avoiding her like she was a problem I didn’t want to deal with… because I’d been annoyed she kept trying to set me up with her best friend.
I didn’t want her desperate best friend. I wanted her. But wanting her was dangerous. I am not a good man. My hands are stained. I wouldn't want to put her in harm's way.
Now, all the times I had treated her poorly began replaying in my mind—
Every irritated look.
Every time I brushed her off.
Every time I acted like she was too much.
And here she was. Breaking apart in my arms.
My chest tightened painfully.
“Layla,” I murmured, my voice cracking even though I tried to keep it steady. I loosened my grip enough to cup the back of her head. “Hey… sweetheart… look at me.”
She didn’t.
She just cried harder.
Every sound tore through me.
“Please,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to her hair. “Tell me what happened. Tell me who did this to you.”
But she didn’t speak.
She couldn’t.
She felt like she’d been holding herself together for hours, maybe days, and now that she was in my arms—she finally let go.
So I held her.
Held her like I should’ve from the start.
Like she was something fragile.
Something precious.
Something I should’ve protected instead of pushing away.
Her tears hit me like punches. Each sob twisted deeper until the anger inside me wasn’t just for whoever hurt her…
It was for me too.
Because I should’ve seen it.
I should’ve been there.
I should’ve paid attention.
I tightened my arms and rested my chin on her head, whispering quietly, fiercely—
“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”
I held her through every shaking breath. Every tear. Every piece of her that fell apart.
She was breaking—
and I refused to let her break alone.
---
I carried her to her room, laid her gently on her bed, and slipped off her shoes.
“I saw them,” she choked out, half-sobbing. “My best friend and my boyfriend…cheating on me.”
Her voice cracked. “I’ve known them all my life. I took her as family. But she chose to pay me back like this.”
The shock on my face was immediate. Well, considering the way her friend acted that other day, I shouldn’t have been surprised.
I remembered Stacey’s comments—
The way she bad-mouthed Layla casually, laughing like it was a game.
“Layla’s not as beautiful as I am.”
“Layla’s a cheat.”
“You can’t trust Layla.”
“I’m the only one who can put up with her. Her personality is terrible.”
All of it said between jokes.
What kind of friend spoke like that?
Then, when Layla came out with the biscuits, she began praising her like she hadn’t just torn her apart behind her back.
I looked at Layla now—her smudged eyes, her trembling lips, her tear-stained cheeks—and even like this, she was beautiful.
“Henry,” she whispered.
“Yes, baby,” I answered gently.
“Kiss me… please.”
The request stunned me. I froze for nearly a full minute.
“Or… don’t you want me as well?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“No. No, baby—don’t say that.” I cupped her cheek. “I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you in that damn towel. I’ve wanted you ever since.”
“Then kiss me,” she insisted.
So I leaned down and kissed her—slow at first, then deeper, unable to hold back the hunger I’d been fighting for days. I’d been losing sleep replaying the sound of her moans from our first kiss. Walking past her room at night, wondering if she was touching herself again.
I was gone.
And this kiss…was my resurrection.
Her hands slid into my hair, pulling me closer, and I felt myself losing the last thread of restraint.
“Henry…” she breathed, “Touch me. Have me.”
I pulled back, fighting myself.
“Layla, you’re vulnerable. I don’t want to take advan—”
She shook her head, desperate.
“I need you. Please.”
Her voice cracked.
Her eyes pleaded.
And I felt something inside me break apart.
I kissed her again—softer this time, slower, like a promise forming between us. My hands framed her face, my thumb brushing away her tears as I laid my forehead against hers.
“Layla… I want you. God knows I do,” I whispered. “But not like this. Not while you’re hurting.”
She whimpered, burying her face in my neck, clutching me like I was the only thing holding her up. I was holding on to the last string of self-control I had.
The problem was not wanting her. It was choosing not to take her.
So I pulled her fully into my arms, sliding us under the covers.
She curled against my chest, breathing unevenly but slowly calming.
I held her until her breathing steadied.
Until her body relaxed.
Until her fingers went slack against my shirt.
She fell asleep in my arms.
And as I watched her, I knew one thing with certainty:
Whatever was starting between us would be trouble.
But I’d fight for her.
Those idiots would never hurt her again.
No man would hurt her again.
She was mine.
If another man touched her, I’d burn his world down.
And I would protect her from everything—
Even from the world I came from.
Even from the Mafia.
- Writer
