Chapter 87 Breaking An Arm
Vincent's gaze dropped to Layla's stomach.
"That's none of your business!" Layla answered coldly, unwilling to engage with such a man.
Vincent's face twisted with anger. "You haven't done it yet? You’re not seriously thinking about keeping it? I made it clear, Layla; the Holland family won’t acknowledge this bastard child. You think you can climb the social ladder through childbirth, but what you're actually carrying is a ticking time bomb, which will destroy you at any moment."
"My patience has limits. If you don't take care of it, I’ll tell my grandfather. You’ll be done for."
"Do whatever you want," Layla said, her patience wearing thin. Vincent was relentless, and he pulled her toward the clinic as she turned to leave.
"I’m taking you to get it done."
“I'm not going anywhere, Vincent—let go, or I'll scream!” Layla struggled fiercely, trying to wrench her wrist free.
The next moment, Vincent's grip was violently ripped away, accompanied by the chilling snap of bones and his anguished howl, “Aaagh—”
Samuel pinned Vincent's arm behind his back, standing tall and imposing like a majestic lion. “Looks like you have a death wish!”
“Uncle? Let go please—my arm... it's about to break...” Vincent sobbed, begging pitifully, “Please, let me go...”
With a steely glance from Samuel, Vincent's arm was shattered.
“Ah—my arm!” Vincent cradled his broken limb, kneeling on the ground and wailing in agony with sweat dripping from his brow.
“His arm...” Layla went pale, but Samuel pulled her away.
“You'll regret this—I'll make you pay,” Vincent ground his teeth, vowing vengeance for his ruined arm.
…
Back in the hospital room, Layla inquired, “Is his arm really broken?”
“You feel sorry for him?”
She agreed that Vincent deserved a lesson, but breaking his arm seemed extreme; the thought left Layla feeling cold inside.
“Worry about him for what? You should be more concerned about yourself,” Samuel chided. “I told you to rest. Why'd you run off?”
“I don't need your concern,” Layla retorted stubbornly, furrowing her brow and glaring at him. “Didn't you leave? Why are you back again?”
“I went to get you some porridge,” Samuel said, hooking a paper bag with his finger.
“So fake,” muttered Layla, annoyed at the mere sight of him.
You could cut the resentment in her voice with a knife.
“If you're going to be in a mood, at least eat first, okay?”
Layla frowned, disliking his cajoling tone as if they were a couple, yet aware of the underlying bitterness in their relationship.
Why did such a good-looking man have to be so despicable inside?
Samuel lifted the lid, and the aroma of the porridge filled the air. He spooned up a bite and brought it to her lips.
Layla turned her head away, “I'm not eating.”
“You hate me, right?”
“Hmph.”
“As smart as you are, you should know that starving yourself out of spite for someone you dislike is foolish, especially when you need to recover.”
Still, Layla kept her face cold; she wasn't buying his act.
“Or maybe you'd prefer that I feed you mouth-to-mouth?”
Layla looked at him with revulsion. Was he trying to make her sick?
“If you know I need to rest, you should disappear from my sight, not keep pressuring me. The doctors said I need peace and quiet, so are you intentionally harming me now?” Layla accused.
“It's because I care about you.”
She almost believed him as his gaze shifted from casual to disarmingly intense. It was like the ocean's vastness met the sun's heat—an intensity too piercing for Layla to face directly.
Instinctively, she looked away.
"I'll leave once you've finished this bowl of oatmeal, okay?" Samuel's patience was uncharacteristic, especially when it came to appeasing anyone, let alone a woman. He was doing things he swore he'd never do, yet she seemed less than grateful.
"Just go, and don't come back to bother me," Layla set her terms first.
"If you miss me..." he started.
"Don't worry, that won't happen."
Now that he agreed to leave, she finally took the bowl from him.
The oatmeal was sweet without being cloying and was surprisingly gentle on her stomach.
Under Samuel's watchful eye, Layla took her time and sipped her way through the entire bowl.
Samuel pulled a paper towel, trying to wipe her mouth for her. Grabbing it from him, Layla wiped her mouth carelessly, "I'm done with the oatmeal; you can leave now."
"Stay put in the hospital tonight, I'll come back in the morning," Samuel reached to stroke her hair, but she pushed his hand away, urging him to leave, "Just go already."
"Let me just ruffle your hair before I go." Every time he saw this bunny of a girl, he was hit with the urge to do so.
"Stop it, Samuel..."
"Hey..."
"Put your hand down!" She snapped.
Owen burst in and grabbed Samuel's arm, but with a quick shove, Owen lost his balance, his anger flaring as he swung a punch at Samuel's face.
"Owen, stop it!" Layla yelled.
Owen had trained in boxing with her dad since he was young, and his punches packed power. She feared he might hurt Samuel, but surprisingly, Samuel was quick and skillful, easily subduing Owen by twisting his arm behind his back, rendering him immobile.
"Let him go..." Layla tugged at Samuel's arm.
"Kid, you—" Owen was fuming.
Samuel released Owen, and though the latter was still looking for a fight, Layla got in between.
"Owen, enough! What's gotten into you?"
"He's getting handsy and taking advantage of you," Owen spat out, still heated.
"You've got it all wrong; he's a friend. Samuel, you should go," Layla interjected quickly.
Samuel gave her a look and reminded her to rest before he finally left.
"Brat, if I see you around here again—"
"Owen, can you stop with the aggression? Not everything calls for a fight," Layla scolded him, feeling utterly exasperated.
"It's because he's not treating you right! Isn't he the busybody from the bar last time? How did you even end up with him? Layla, if you dare get involved with him..."
"Just focus on yourself," Layla snapped, "What are you doing here?"
"A buddy of mine told me he saw you getting hassled by some guy at the hospital, so I came to help. Why are you such a pushover?"
That must have been Vincent.
Layla eyed Owen suspiciously. "You came just to help me?"
"No duh! I'm the only one allowed to mess with you. If anyone else lays a finger on you, I'll break their hand."
"And what about that time at the bar? You left me with your sleazy friends?"
"I was just messing with you. Why do you even work in a place like that? Let me warn you, those rich guys are all bad news. If I catch you playing mistress for one, you'll regret it."
"Ugh, you're so annoying. I need to rest." Layla pushed him towards the door.
"My birthday's in two days. Got my gift ready? Why don't you come give it a try?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Layla managed to shove him out of the room.
...
Elsewhere.
At the lakeside villa, where the evening sky glowed with the colors of sunset.
A gentle woman with raven hair focused intently on tying the tie of the tall, handsome man in front of her.
"Distracted? Thinking about him?" Jovan lifted her chin, his smiling eyes chilling.
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