Chapter 96 And You, Mrs. Holland
Samuel's face darkened as her words stung him. "Does it matter?" he retorted.
She already viewed it as a business deal, after all.
"Yeah, does it matter?" Layla murmured to herself with a wry smile. Why did she ask such a foolish question, and why did it bother her?
Shaking her head, "You're right, it doesn't matter. I think I want to sleep a bit more..."
As she was about to lie back down, he said simply, "I would."
The sound of Samuel's unwavering answer abruptly filled her ears.
She paused, staring at him in a daze.
"I would have saved him even if you hadn't agreed. Right after I got your call, I immediately had Mr. Vandella look into the situation. I was planning to handle it today, but I never expected you to be so bold, going after Arthur on your own. I was in a meeting when I got the news and rushed over."
"I was so worried on the way, afraid something might happen to you. I've never felt such intense concern for anyone," Samuel confessed, each word carried a weight of emotion, an unusual verbosity matching his serious gaze.
Layla's grip tightened on the bedsheets, suddenly at a loss for words.
Did he care about her that much? Or was it... the child growing within her?
Was his declaration of affection genuine?
"I've told you I would marry you, and it wasn't a joke," he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. Samuel was not one to take marriage lightly.
Before knowing her, he had no interest in marriage, even considering a life of bachelorhood.
After meeting her, there was no one else he wanted to marry.
He didn't hold many expectations for marriage, but to him, it was sacred. If he married, he had no intention of divorcing.
"But the Holland family..." Layla's thoughts were in disarray.
"To hell with the Holland family. In matters of my marriage, there's only one person who decides, and that's me. Having the child is not an issue; I won't let him be born out of wedlock. He'll be the legitimate heir of the Holland Group, and you—Mrs. Holland. None of this will stop you from pursuing your dreams."
Her mind reeled.
It didn't seem as terrifying as she'd thought, yet the path ahead was still fraught with difficulty, casting a shadow of worry.
"Don't you trust your man to protect you?"
"You're not my man," Layla blushed.
Samuel gently pinched her blushing cheek, " I'm the first man in your life, and I'm going to be the father of our child."
His assertive gaze caused a flutter of confusion in her heart. She moved her lips but found no words.
"That night... it was an accident."
"A beautiful accident," Samuel replied contently. "But as far as I'm concerned, it was no accident. Do you think you would have ended up in my bed if I didn't want you there?"
"Stop talking about that night."
But Samuel insisted, "You weren't shy like now. You were wild, climbing on top of me, tackling me with fervor."
Turns of phrases not typically found in the original language have been smoothed to match everyday American English, while respecting the original perspective and context. Chinese-specific elements have been replaced with American equivalents to maintain cultural coherence for the American reader.
"You're still talking?", Layla's face flushed pink as she pretended to grab a pillow to throw at him. "Sam, I keep my promises. If I said I'll have this baby, I won’t go back on my word. As for us, let's just play it by ear. But, you have to agree to two conditions."
"You do have the makings of a businesswoman, don’t you?" Sam teased her.
"First, I'm going to keep working until my belly gets too big, at least until I finish the project I'm currently on. Second, I'm not moving in with you. I'll stay in the employee housing."
"Fine by me." He lived just next door, separated only by a wall, so it made no difference to Sam.
"Just behave, and I'll indulge you as much as I can," he said generously, a clear hint of affection in his voice, "including in bed."
Layla's ears turned even redder, feeling awkward with him speaking so close. His breath on her ear was warm and ticklish.
"Rogue!"
"Only for you." Around other women, he was the aloof and proud Sam.
"Mr. Morris, the soup's ready." Mr. Morris, an expert at reading the room, chuckled, "You two have finally made up, I see."
"Who’s made up with him," Layla said flatly.
"Mr. Morris specially prepared your favorite corn chowder," he said with a smile.
"I don’t like corn chowder," Layla pouted. Although the aroma was enticing and she felt hungry, probably from the stress of last night.
"Then send it back. Have the kitchen make something else," Sam ordered.
"It’s fine, too much hassle. I’ll just have a little," Layla conceded, not wanting to admit she actually wanted it.
"Stubborn," Sam chuckled at her remark.
Layla's version of "having a little" ended with her finishing the entire bowl, feeling much more spirited and strong, "I want to go to the hospital to see Owen."
"I’ll have Mr. Vandella take you."
"Aren’t you going?"
"Miss me already?" Sam raised an eyebrow with a hint of flirtation.
"Not at all, I just find it strange. Don’t you usually keep a close eye on me?"
"I said I'd indulge you, and that includes giving you as much freedom as possible." His previous rigid control had only served to push her away.
Layla wondered if she was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. She was supposed to be free – there was nothing to be thankful for.
Now it felt like freedom was a gift from him. A little show of kindness and she looked as eager as a puppy wagging its tail.
...
That afternoon, Layla arrived at the hospital.
"My poor boy, how did you get hurt so badly? It’s all your father’s fault for teaching you to box, which got you into this mess," Sophia lamented deeply, "Want something to eat? I'll make it for you."
"I don't want anything to eat. I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me," Owen frowned, his mood sour as he craved some peace and quiet.
Suddenly, venom flashed in Sophia's eyes. "Layla, how dare you show up? Do you want to curse my Owen to death?"
Sophia charged forward to drive Layla away.
"Mom!" Owen called out to her, "Step outside, I need to talk to her."
"What could you possibly have to say to this jinx? The psychic said your stars are crossed—it's like you're jinxed around each other."
"Just go," he insisted.
Seeing Owen attempting to get up, possibly hurting himself in the process, Sophia quickly complied. "Alright, alright, I'm leaving."
The room was left with just the two of them.
Owen glared at Layla awkwardly. "I didn't ask you to save me. Don’t expect my gratitude."
"I don't," Layla retorted, concern etched below her bristly facade—a dynamic they had maintained over the years.
"What's the deal with you and that Holland guy? He was ready to spend a fortune to save me. I've seen him on TV; he's engaged."
"It's just a rumor online."
"Rumors don’t come from nowhere. Maybe you're the one who's clueless about his fiancée. Don't get played by him. Layla, honestly, I'd rather die in the ring than watch you play second fiddle to some guy, you understand?" Owen's eyes reddened with intensity.
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