Layla
His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Rain streaked the tinted windows as the city blurred by, but all he could see was her.
Every second since she'd walked out of that café had felt like a punishment. He'd tried to tell himself he was fine. That it was better this way. Cleaner. Safer.
But the truth was, he couldn't stop playing it over in his mind—her face when she saw that message. The way her voice cracked when she said his name.
And the worst part?
He'd hesitated.
That hesitation had cost him everything.
Are you really going to go through with this, boss? James asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
Adrian's hands tightened into fists. "Yes. Keep going."
The car turned sharply down a private drive—one Layla never would've expected him to know about. But after three days of silence, and two nights of drinking more than he should've, Adrian had made a decision: if he wanted the truth, he couldn't wait for it to come to him.
The SUV rolled up to a tidy brownstone in Harlem, nestled among some new buildings but still holding onto the neighborhood's vibe. He got out into the rain without even grabbing an umbrella.
Hart to Heart's headquarters stood quietly before him, lights on inside despite the hour.
Adrian didn't knock.
He stepped inside like a man stepping off a ledge.
"Layla?" he called gently, inhaling the familiar smell of old wood and paper. He heard footsteps in the entrance and then she appeared. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, handle a bunch of files, with her hair all messy like she hadn't gotten much sleep. "Adrian," she said, her expression a mix of surprise and something else.
He moved closer, drenched, unapologetic. "You didn't tell me everything."
Her jaw tightened. "You didn't ask."
"I'm asking now."
She didn't move. Didn't blink.
He stepped forward again, his voice softer. "You walked away before I could understand. He stepped closer, soaked and not sorry about it. "You didn't tell me the whole story."
She held on to her jaw. "You didn't ask."
"I'm asking now."
She stayed still, not even blinking.
He took another step closer, his tone gentler. "You left before I had a chance to get it."
"No more running. No more secrets. Just you. Raw and real. Can you do that, Layla?"
Silence.
Then, finally, her voice broke.
"My name is Layla Hart. My father is Thomas Hart—the man your family destroyed. He taught me how to survive, how to fight for something real. And then I watched him fall. I watched him get buried by your father's lies."
Adrian's breath left his lungs.
"I thought if I stayed away from this world, I could outrun it. But somehow, I ended up back here right in your orbit."
Her hands trembled
I didn't come to that gala looking for you. I didn't even know you would be there. But as soon as I said my name and saw your face I just knew.
And you still let me in? Adrian asked, his voice quiet and heavy.
I didn't let you in, she whispered. "You broke in."
A pause.
"I didn't want to fall for you, Adrian. God knows I didn't. But I did. And it scares the hell out of me."
Something in him cracked.
I don't really know who I should be around you, he admitted. Not Blackwell. Not the heir. Just... me.I'm not sure that's enough.
It's not about being enough, she replied quietly. It's about being real. If we can't be honest, maybe this isn't going to work out. They stood there, feeling uneasy, wanting each other but also worried about what could happen next. All those things left unsaid hung in the air. Then Adrian moved closer, soaking wet, showing how exposed he really was. "I want to try, Layla. Even if it's a mistake. Even if it breaks me."
And this time, she didn't pull away.
Layla didn't move for a heartbeat. Then another. Then another.
And then, something inside her broke.
She dropped the files.They fell to the floor like broken glass, but she didn't mind.She approached Adrian directly, halting mere inches from him a distance where the heat radiating from his soaked clothing was palpable, and the frantic rhythm of his heart was almost deafening. Instinctively, her hand reached out, fingers sinking into the saturated material of his shirt. I resent the sense of security you evoke, she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. I despise that, despite all that's transpired, you remain the sole individual who truly comprehends me.
Adrian remained silent, his response measured.
Every second since she'd walked out of that café had felt like a punishment. He'd tried to tell himself he was fine. That it was better this way. Cleaner. Safer.
But the truth was, he couldn't stop playing it over in his mind—her face when she saw that message. The way her voice cracked when she said his name.
And the worst part?
He'd hesitated.
That hesitation had cost him everything.
Are you really going to go through with this, boss? James asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
Adrian's hands tightened into fists. "Yes. Keep going."
The car turned sharply down a private drive—one Layla never would've expected him to know about. But after three days of silence, and two nights of drinking more than he should've, Adrian had made a decision: if he wanted the truth, he couldn't wait for it to come to him.
The SUV rolled up to a tidy brownstone in Harlem, nestled among some new buildings but still holding onto the neighborhood's vibe. He got out into the rain without even grabbing an umbrella.
Hart to Heart's headquarters stood quietly before him, lights on inside despite the hour.
Adrian didn't knock.
He stepped inside like a man stepping off a ledge.
"Layla?" he called gently, inhaling the familiar smell of old wood and paper. He heard footsteps in the entrance and then she appeared. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, handle a bunch of files, with her hair all messy like she hadn't gotten much sleep. "Adrian," she said, her expression a mix of surprise and something else.
He moved closer, drenched, unapologetic. "You didn't tell me everything."
Her jaw tightened. "You didn't ask."
"I'm asking now."
She didn't move. Didn't blink.
He stepped forward again, his voice softer. "You walked away before I could understand. He stepped closer, soaked and not sorry about it. "You didn't tell me the whole story."
She held on to her jaw. "You didn't ask."
"I'm asking now."
She stayed still, not even blinking.
He took another step closer, his tone gentler. "You left before I had a chance to get it."
"No more running. No more secrets. Just you. Raw and real. Can you do that, Layla?"
Silence.
Then, finally, her voice broke.
"My name is Layla Hart. My father is Thomas Hart—the man your family destroyed. He taught me how to survive, how to fight for something real. And then I watched him fall. I watched him get buried by your father's lies."
Adrian's breath left his lungs.
"I thought if I stayed away from this world, I could outrun it. But somehow, I ended up back here right in your orbit."
Her hands trembled
I didn't come to that gala looking for you. I didn't even know you would be there. But as soon as I said my name and saw your face I just knew.
And you still let me in? Adrian asked, his voice quiet and heavy.
I didn't let you in, she whispered. "You broke in."
A pause.
"I didn't want to fall for you, Adrian. God knows I didn't. But I did. And it scares the hell out of me."
Something in him cracked.
I don't really know who I should be around you, he admitted. Not Blackwell. Not the heir. Just... me.I'm not sure that's enough.
It's not about being enough, she replied quietly. It's about being real. If we can't be honest, maybe this isn't going to work out. They stood there, feeling uneasy, wanting each other but also worried about what could happen next. All those things left unsaid hung in the air. Then Adrian moved closer, soaking wet, showing how exposed he really was. "I want to try, Layla. Even if it's a mistake. Even if it breaks me."
And this time, she didn't pull away.
Layla didn't move for a heartbeat. Then another. Then another.
And then, something inside her broke.
She dropped the files.They fell to the floor like broken glass, but she didn't mind.She approached Adrian directly, halting mere inches from him a distance where the heat radiating from his soaked clothing was palpable, and the frantic rhythm of his heart was almost deafening. Instinctively, her hand reached out, fingers sinking into the saturated material of his shirt. I resent the sense of security you evoke, she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. I despise that, despite all that's transpired, you remain the sole individual who truly comprehends me.
Adrian remained silent, his response measured. He raised his hand, slightly shaking, and gently pushed a wet strand of hair away from her face. Then embrace it, he urged softly. If it ultimately leads to our undoing, so be it. But I implore you, never deceive me again. Especially not you. She closed her eyes, tears welling up, and rested her forehead on his, showing she was surrendering. 'I never lied to you,' she said, her voice strong.
I just didn't know how to tell you that your name tastes like blood in my mouth some days, and honey on others."
He pulled her into his arms.
And for a moment, there was no war between their families. No secrets. No betrayals. Just the sound of two broken hearts trying to beat in rhythm.
She stiffened.
Adrian felt it too.
"Layla, you need to get here. Now. There's been a break-in." Layla's eyes went wide."What? Where?"
"At the East Harlem shelter. It's bad. Someone trashed the place. We think they were looking for something."
Adrian's expression shifted—instantly sharp. Protective.
Layla said she'd be there in ten minutes and then hung up. Just as she was about to leave, Adrian grabbed her wrist and said, 'You're not going by yourself.'
Layla hesitated. "This isn't your world."
"It became my world the second I met you," he said. "And I'm not letting you walk into something dangerous alone."
Their eyes locked.
And in that moment, the storm outside didn't matter. Because the real storm was coming.
And it had both their names written in the thunder.
Then embrace it, he urged softly. If it ultimately leads to our undoing, so be it. But I implore you, never deceive me again. Especially not you. She closed her eyes, tears welling up, and rested her forehead on his, showing she was surrendering. 'I never lied to you,' she said, her voice strong.
I just didn't know how to tell you that your name tastes like blood in my mouth some days, and honey on others."
He pulled her into his arms.
And for a moment, there was no war between their families. No secrets. No betrayals. Just the sound of two broken hearts trying to beat in rhythm.
She stiffened.
Adrian felt it too.
"Layla, you need to get here. Now. There's been a break-in." Layla's eyes went wide."What? Where?"
"At the East Harlem shelter. It's bad. Someone trashed the place. We think they were looking for something."
Adrian's expression shifted—instantly sharp. Protective.
Layla said she'd be there in ten minutes and then hung up. Just as she was getting ready to head out, Adrian grabbed her wrist and told her, 'You're not going alone.'
Layla hesitated. "This isn't your world."
"It became my world the second I met you," he said. "And I'm not letting you walk
into something dangerous alone."
Their eyes locked.
And in that moment, the storm outside didn't matter. Because the real storm was coming.
And it had both their names written in the thunder.