Chapter 68 Locked Away
He really locked her up!
Layla's face lost all color, her hands clutching the doorknob, twisting it forcefully several times.
"Samuel, open the door!"
"Open up! Can you hear me?"
Layla shouted, pounding and kicking the door in vain; there was no response.
Panicked, she ran to the balcony only to realize she was three stories up. One wrong move in an escape attempt and it could be the end for both her and her unborn child.
Her hand instinctively touched her belly. Though she couldn't yet feel the baby's presence, she dared not take the risk.
Besides, even if she survived the fall, the bodyguard at the door meant there was no real chance of escape.
Was he planning to keep her locked up until the baby was born?
Her heart was a swirling mix of anger and fear as she collapsed to the floor, hugging her knees as tears started to flow.
She didn’t know how long she had been crying when she heard a voice.
"Miss Adkins, are you alright?" Mr. Morris stood there with a tray of lunch, looking at her with concern.
With a hard swipe at her tears, Layla scowled at Mr. Morris, her eyes red and wild like a cornered animal.
"It’s noon already; you must be hungry. We can discuss everything after you’ve eaten."
"I’m not eating." Fire flashed in Layla's eyes. "You go tell Samuel, even if he starves me, I won’t bear his child."
Mr. Morris’s eyes lit up, “You’re carrying Mr. Holland's baby?” But his smile quickly turned into a frown.
Seeing his reaction, Layla said sarcastically, “Oh, you also think this child shouldn’t exist, right?”
"Every little life is a gift from above. I'm sure Mr. Holland, having blessed you with this pregnancy, will ensure the baby is safely brought into the world."
The Holland legacy was not something just anyone could inherit.
It seemed she meant more to him than she had realized.
“So it's the baby he wants, not the mother? He's just using me as a surrogate!” Layla ground her teeth in anger.
Mr. Morris was as much in the dark as she was. It would be tough for Miss Adkins to marry into the Holland family, and what happened with the child was a decision only Mr. Holland could make. He didn’t dare speculate.
"Regardless, please eat something now; the baby needs nourishment too," Mr. Morris urged, genuinely concerned for her well-being.
Layla snatched the tray and hurled it into the trash can. "Let him starve me then!"
...
In the next room.
"Then let her starve!" Samuel downed his whiskey in one gulp.
Her throwing a tantrum? He was the one who wasn’t pleased.
"Mr. Holland, Miss Adkins is still a young woman. Perhaps you could try comforting her yourself."
"You have no idea what she's done!" Samuel crushed his glass in his hand.
Mr. Morris's face turned ashen.
"What's so bad about her carrying my child? It's an honor for her!" Samuel's voice was cold and detached. Even though he might have employed some tactics initially, it was she who had climbed into his bed first, setting everything else in motion.
A surrogate? Was that how low she thought of him?
Well, if her imagination was that wild, he might as well let her believe what she wanted. After all, even if he tried to explain, she wouldn't believe him.
"Miss Adkins is a good girl..."
"Are you suggesting I'm the bad guy?" Samuel interrogated with a dark look in his eyes. He'd never claimed to be a saint, but he believed he'd been merciful enough to Layla. Wasn't he the one cleaning up her messes at work every time?
Had he spoiled her to the point of lawlessness? Damned woman!
He had been too soft on her before, and now it was time to teach her a lesson.
Samuel poured another drink and gulped it down, feeling the liquor scorch his throat and stomach.
Mr. Morris's dinner offering fed the trash can instead.
Until ten o'clock that night...
"The dumplings I just brought over were dumped into the toilet by Miss Adkins. She can't keep starving herself like this..." Mr. Morris was troubled.
"If she likes starving, let her starve. Am I supposed to beg her?" Samuel scoffed harshly, taking a deep drag of his cigarette, "I've never heard of anyone dying from missing a couple meals. When she's hungry enough, she'll eat."
"Yes, sir," the bodyguard responded.
Samuel stamped out the cigarette butt; the ashtray was already filled with over a dozen stubs. It was unusual for him to smoke this much.
His mood was foul.
On the table, his phone's screen lit up.
Nora Eilish.
Samuel lit another cigarette before picking up.
"Hey Holland, off work yet?" came a gentle and crisp female voice.
Samuel toyed with his lighter, his eyes squinting slightly from the smoke.
"Are you smoking?"
"Did you have dinner? You know your stomach's not the best. Don't forget to eat when you're busy."
Samuel was usually indifferent to such concern, sometimes even found it annoying, but in this moment, he couldn't help but compare Nora's thoughtfulness to Layla's carefree nature.
Women, so different—some tender and considerate, while Layla? She provoked him day in and day out, seemingly ignorant to danger.
"You called me during the day and hung up. Was there something you needed?"
"It was a misdial."
"Oh, is that it..." Nora's disappointment was audible, yet she quickly rallied, "My uncle called me a while ago, he'll be back home the day after tomorrow. He's doing much better now, and I'm relieved."
"When do you have some free time? Let's get our families together for a meal. I know you're swamped, but it's only proper for the parents to meet formally before the wedding day."
"There won't be a wedding," Samuel said, narrowing his eyes.
The person on the other end fell silent for a few seconds before replying with a faint smile, "Say what you will, our families are both well-established. Skipping the honeymoon is one thing, but not having a wedding seems a bit..."
"I'm not marrying you," Samuel clarified, cutting through the pretense. It wasn't that she didn't understand; she was playing dumb.
"I know you don't like me, but that's only because we haven't spent much time together. I believe love can grow after marriage. Marrying me is also crucial for securing your succession in the Holland family, isn't it? Plus, I'll be a good wife. As long as you don't cross any lines, I won't meddle in your affairs..."
"Stop lying to yourself," Samuel snapped and hung up, tossing the phone back onto the coffee table.
It was midnight.
After finishing his last cigarette, shrouded in the thick scent of smoke, Samuel opened the door to the room next door.
Layla was there, clutching a pink stuffed rabbit, asleep with tears still on her cheeks, mumbling in her sleep, "Mommy... I'm so tired..."
"I... I hate him..."
"I don't want children...," she sobbed even in her dreams.
Samuel's heart softened instantly. He bent over and tenderly wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes.
...
Layla woke up to find her pillow damp.
How heartbroken must one be to cry all night in their sleep?
Her eyes were sore and nearly swollen shut, and the dark circles beneath them were frightening. A warm towel offered little respite.
Another day in this prison?
Without any real hope, Layla turned the doorknob, surprised to find it opened. She quickly changed into her day clothes and went downstairs.
"Miss Adkins, good morning. Time for breakfast," Mr. Morris said, his eyes reflecting pity for her haggard appearance.
Layla didn't respond but hummed in acknowledgment.
"Breakfast," came Samuel's deep voice.
"One more step and you'll be locked up."
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