~LAYLA~
The Watson factories ca online in just six days.
Six days of round-the-clock shifts, expedited permits, and enough coffee to fuel a small army. But we did it.
By Monday morning, Revenge Red, our best-selling lipstick shade, rolled off three new production lines. Crates were stacked to the rafters, and delivery trucks idled at every loading bay.
For the first ti in weeks, demand t supply.
Helena texted a selfie from the flagship store floor. Behind her, the shelves groaned under restocked products, and custors stood three deep at every counter.
I screenshotted it imdiately, captioned it "WE DID IT," and sent it to the company chat. The replies flooded in: heart emojis, champagne GIFs, and celebration s.
For one full afternoon, I believed the war was over.
That illusion lasted exactly four days.
Friday night brought the annual Industry Excellence Gala, one of those mandatory events where competitors pretended to be friendly while sizing each other up.
Normally I’d have skipped it, but Axel insisted we show strength, prove Eclipse Beauty wasn’t backing down despite the recent attacks.
The venue was spectacular.
A rooftop garden overlooking the city, string lights wrapped around every column, champagne flowing like water. I wore jade green... Axel said it made my eyes look like fire, and he looked devastating in his black tuxedo.
"Smile," he murmured as we entered. "We’re winners tonight."
"We’re targets," I corrected quietly.
"Winners who happen to be targets. There’s a difference."
I was reaching for a champagne flute when a familiar voice stopped cold.
"Layla."
I turned slowly.
Charles Watson stood at the champagne fountain, looking impeccable in a tuxedo, his smile looking surprisingly civil. He lifted his glass toward . "You took my daughter’s company and made it sing. Well played."
I waited for the insult, the veiled threat, the typical Charles Watson venom. But it never ca.
He clinked his glass against mine... like actually clinked it, and walked away without another word.
"Did that just happen?" I asked Axel, who’d appeared at my side.
"I saw it. Still processing it."
"Charles Watson just congratulated , civilly."
"Maybe prison changed Cassandra, and guilt changed him."
"Or maybe he’s planning sothing worse."
"Always the optimist."
"Always the realist."
Valentina glided over next, her silver gown catching the light like liquid rcury. Her laugh was lighter than our last encounter, less calculated.
"Layla! You look stunning. That colour is perfect on you."
"Thank you. You look beautiful too."
"My apologies for how it went on our first et. I shouldn’t have teased you or made an assumption to imply that your husband and I were... together."
I nodded, dismissing it like an adult should. "It’s fine."
"Truce?" She extended her hand, this ti without the mocking undertone.
I hesitated, then shook it. "Truce."
"Good. Because honestly, torturing you was fun, but exhausting. You’re tougher than you look."
"Is that a complint?"
"From ? Absolutely." She grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "How’s business? I heard the Watson acquisition went smoothly."
"Smoother than expected, actually. Production’s back on track."
"And the cartel situation?"
I stiffened. "How do you know about that?"
"Layla, darling, everyone in our circle knows. Money talks, and threats talk louder." She lowered her voice. "My father has connections. If you need help navigating those waters, call ."
"I... thank you."
"Don’t look so shocked. Not everyone in this industry is cutthroat all the ti." She winked. "Sotis we’re only cutthroat ninety per cent of the ti."
Despite myself, I laughed.
The evening progressed smoothly. Speeches were delivered, awards were presented, and networking took place. Axel worked the room like the natural he was, charming investors and competitors alike.
At about 11:47... yeah, I had just checked the ti a few minutes ago... when the lights went out, throwing everything into total darkness for a few seconds.
Then, the ergency lights snapped on, bathing the entire place in a blood-red glow.
A single gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of glass shattering sowhere behind . Suddenly, screams filled the air. People hit the ground, frantically looking for cover and pushing towards the exits in a panic.
"Layla!" Axel’s voice, sowhere to my left. "Get down!"
I dropped behind the bar, my heart hamring against my ribs. My hands shook as I tried to make sense of what was happening.
Through the chaos, I peeked over the counter.
Four n dressed in waiter tuxedos moved against the tide of fleeing guests. Their faces were covered with black masks, rifles held low but ready.
This wasn’t random; this was coordinated.
One of them turned, scanning the crowd, until his eyes locked onto mine. Then he lifted sothing smaller... a syringe gun.
"No..." I gasped, turning around to run.
The next thing I felt was a sudden, sharp pain in my neck. Ice raced through my veins, spreading from the injection site like wildfire.
My legs gave out. The world tilted sideways.
"Axel..." I tried to call out, but my voice ca out as barely a whisper.
Strong hands grabbed , lifting . I tried to fight, tried to scream, but my body wouldn’t respond. The drug worked fast, shutting down everything.
The last thing I saw was the lights above, spinning in red, white, and gold, all blurring together.
Then darkness swallowed whole.
—
Cold.
That was the first thing I could think of when consciousness returned. The floor felt freezing against my skin, a hard tal surface that seed to steal warmth from my thin dress.
I tried to move, but I couldn’t as my wrists were bound behind my back with zip-ties. My ankles, too.
I felt sothing heavy over my head, like a hood made of thick fabric that reeked of oil and mould. Panic shot through as I struggled against the restraints holding down, but they wouldn’t budge.
A low, rhythmic growl shook the floor beneath . It was the sound of an engine, and I realised we were moving. The gentle rocking and the salty sll that seeped through the fabric told I was on a boat.
"Axel?" I croaked in a weak and barely audible voice. "Are you there?"
There was no answer, just the engine’s steady rumble and the soft sound of water lapping against the hull.
I shouted, desperation creeping into my voice. "Soone answer ! Where am I? What do you want?"
"She’s awake," a male voice said from sowhere.
"Good," another voice replied, this one with an accent I couldn’t place. "The boss wants her conscious when we arrive."
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