Chapter 71 I Have No Fiancée
"You can't go anywhere without my permission!" Samuel stated with finality.
Layla was frantic, "...but you said you'd give me time to cool off."
"Wasn't the day enough?"
"I was at work all day, how could I think straight?" Layla lied. In truth, she was so distraught over the child issue that she couldn't focus on her designs at all.
"That's your problem," Samuel implied. He had given her time, and if she hadn't used it wisely, it was her own fault.
He had given her too much freedom before, and now she had become spoiled and arrogant.
Did Samuel want to control a woman? As if she had the right to refuse him.
"Do you really want to push me to death?" Layla finally showed her anger, her fists clenched as she felt like she was suffocating.
Her angry face broke into a mocking smile: "Or maybe Mr. Holland loves me so much that he can't stand a second away from me," she taunted with the words she knew he hated most.
"Don't flatter yourself. It's not you I care about."
So, it was the child in her womb? He really did see her as nothing more than a vessel, a tool.
"I'm moving out whether you agree or not," Layla's rage intensified.
"You try it!"
...
At the villa.
"Miss Adkins, you go ba—"
Mr. Morris was cut off as Layla dashed upstairs.
Samuel frowned in disapproval. Running that fast, didn't she realize she was pregnant?
"Should we send Miss Adkins some food?" Mr. Morris asked.
"Mind your own business!" Samuel tossed his suit jacket to Mr. Morris, "Let's eat."
"We have salmon today—"
Samuel spat out a piece of fish as soon as it hit his tongue, " This tastes awful!"
He put down his fork and went upstairs.
...
Layla locked herself in her room.
Staring at the backpack loaded with clothes, she grew angrier by the minute.
It wasn't until Mr. Morris came with a bowl of oatmeal, pleading earnestly, that she responded.
"I told you I'm not eating." Layla frowned, cutting him off, "This is between Samuel and me, I don't want to take it out on you, so stop trying to persuade me."
"Miss..."
"Leave us." Samuel entered, his expression colder than ever.
Layla glared at him defensively, her eyes filled with hostility. He had just showered, his hair still wet. The white towel around his waist covered the essentials. His well-defined muscles were exposed to the air, chiseled and sharp, his legs long and straight, oozing masculinity.
"Yes." Mr. Morris closed the door.
As the man approached, Layla instinctively shrank into the couch. But where could she hide?
"Drink it!" Samuel commanded.
"I won't!"
"You're ungrateful."
His large hand gripped the back of her head, pulling her into his embrace, his overpowering masculine scent branding her lips.
Samuel's kiss was domineering, leaving her breathless as she pounded on his chest.
"Mmm... Samuel..."
"Do I have to kiss you until you drink?" Samuel pulled away slightly, his gaze fierce.
Layla's face flushed, breathing heavily, her clear eyes filled with anger and helplessness. She bit her lip, "I'll drink."
Only then did Samuel let go. She never learned, always making him force her.
Layla stealthily glared at him, picking up the bowl. Despite not eating all day, she wasn't hungry at all, her stomach in knots.
She forced a few spoonfuls down.
Samuel watched her.
"Can you stop staring?" Layla frowned. No one likes to be forced and watched while doing something.
After barely managing half a bowl, she complained, "I can't drink anymore."
"It seems you prefer it when I'm forceful..."
Layla quickly spooned more oatmeal into her mouth, but feeling rushed, nausea swept over her, and she covered her mouth, dashing into the bathroom. Bent over the toilet, she retched miserably.
"Morning sickness? Is it severe?" Samuel approached the doorway.
"Don't pretend to care." Layla gasped for air, glaring at him through the mirror, "Happy to see me suffer?"
"...Should I call the doctor?"
"No need!" Layla wiped her mouth with tissue, trying to rid herself of the tobacco taste he left on her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes watery.
She felt as if everything was stuck in her throat and she couldn’t vomit.
"You just have to be stubborn," Samuel really disliked this trait of hers.
During their peaceful times, her personality was quite endearing, but once things turned sour, she became like a porcupine, very prickly.
Not only that, she had created an impassable chasm between them.
Just like now.
He wanted to comfort her, to pat her back, but he could imagine she would angrily refuse.
"Fighting me will only make you suffer, with no benefits."
"So I should just let you manipulate me?" Layla's eyes reddened, "I'm young, I have my dreams, I don't want to have children. I have my morals, I don't want to be called a mistress. I want to live upright, not in constant fear like this."
She had nightmares of being chased and called a mistress.
Beneath her angry façade, she was vulnerable.
Samuel saw this and felt a twinge of pain.
This wasn't what she wanted, but her stubbornness made it impossible for him to stay calm.
"Nora Eilish is not my fiancée."
In the end, he compromised and explained. He had a patience for her that he didn't understand himself.
"Everyone says..."
"So if they say you and Nathan are having an affair, is that true?"
"Of course not." Layla quickly denied.
"If I had a fiancée, you would know. Until then, stop believing everything you hear. Get some rest, and stop overthinking." Samuel left after speaking.
Layla frowned, unable to discern the truth in his words. Even Vincent and Isabel said so... but he sounded serious.
No, she couldn't be swayed by his lies, she must not waver.
...
The next morning.
Layla sat down for breakfast, her expression numb.
Samuel pushed a glass of milk towards her, his tone cold: "Eat more, you're too thin to carry a child."
Mr. Morris looked pleased, hoping this was a sign of a truce, wishing the two would reconcile soon and stop fighting.
Layla, unappreciative, rolled her eyes, "What do you care if I'm thin? I don't want it anyway."
...
A day passed.
After work, Layla stayed to work overtime as usual.
Of course, she couldn't concentrate during work hours, let alone after, overtime was just an excuse to avoid someone.
Her phone lay on the desk, silent.
Samuel didn't hurry her to come downstairs.
She waited until 7:30 pm...
Did this mean he wasn't forcing her to go back today, and she could stay in the dorm?
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