CHAPTER 182: A SMALL TOKEN

~LAYLA~

"Alright, thanks for the update, Tye," Axel said in a low voice as he ended the call. He set his phone on the study’s desk and ran a hand over his face, looking exhausted.

I was curled up on the leather sofa, a glass of wine untouched in my hand. The liquid had probably gone warm by now. "Well?"

"You heard most of it," he said, walking over to sit beside me. The couch cushion dipped under his weight. "Helena found everything. Hard evidence, account numbers, wire transfers, detailed files. She even found emails between Henry and Charles discussing the entire operation."

A fresh wave of guilt washed over me like cold water. "Oh, God. That poor girl." I leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of what we’d asked her to do. "I feel terrible, Axel. We asked her to spy on her own brother. We put her in that position."

"We gave her the option," he corrected, but his voice had the same guilt. "She knew what she might find. But... yeah. I feel like shit about it too."

He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer. "Tye’s with her now. She’s... she’s not handing over the evidence. Not yet. She needs time to process everything."

"Good," I said immediately. "She should take all the time she needs. I don’t care about the deadline. What we did to her, what Henry did to her... she deserves time to process this betrayal."

Axel was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my shoulder. "I agree. But the deadline doesn’t care about what’s fair, Layla."

He sighed heavily. "I’m going to give her a few days off. She can’t be at the office right now, not with Henry potentially coming in and out for meetings. And seeing us every day after what we put her through... that would be awkward as hell for everyone."

"That’s a good idea," I murmured, finally taking a sip of my wine. It was indeed warm, but I swallowed it anyway. "What about the evidence? What if she decides not to give it to us at all?"

"Then we respect that decision and find another way."

"What other way? We’ve exhausted every avenue."

"I don’t know yet. But I won’t pressure that girl any more than we already have." His voice was firm. "She’s been through enough."

I loved him for that... for caring about Helena’s wellbeing even when our own lives hung in the balance.

"Come on," Axel said softly, standing and pulling me to my feet. "Let’s get you to bed. There’s nothing more we can do tonight except wait and hope she makes the choice that she can live with."

—

The next day, I didn’t go to O’Brien Group headquarters. Instead, I headed to my office at Eclipse Beauty, hoping that diving into work might distract me from the ticking clock of the cartel’s deadline.

It didn’t work.

Every email I read felt pointless. Every document I signed seemed meaningless. My mind kept circling back to Helena, to Henry, to Marco and his father’s deadline that was rapidly approaching.

Four days. We had four days left.

My intercom buzzed, making me jump. My secretary’s voice came through, shaky and uncertain. "Mrs. O’Brien? There’s a Mr. Marco Sinaloa here to see you. He... he doesn’t have an appointment."

My blood ran cold.

Before I could respond, before I could tell her to send him away or call security, the door to my office opened.

Marco Sinaloa glided in, wearing an expensive Italian suit and looking confident. He carried a small gift bag in one hand, swinging it casually as if he were visiting a friend rather than threatening a debtor.

"Layla," he greeted casually. "What a pleasure. I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I’d stop by. See how my father’s... investment... was being managed."

I stood slowly, keeping my hands flat on my desk so he wouldn’t see them shake. "Marco. This is a surprise."

"Is it?" He wandered around my office with the ease of someone who owned the place, idly picking up a crystal award from my shelf.

"Why are you here?"

"The deadline is..." he checked his Rolex, the gold catching the light, "four days away. And I haven’t heard a single whisper of progress. Silence makes me nervous, Layla. Makes my father anxious. And when Papa gets anxious about money, people tend to get hurt."

"We’re handling it," I said, forcing my voice to remain firm and steady. "We’ve identified the parties responsible for the theft. We’re just gathering the final proof to present to your father."

"Proof," he mused, turning the award over in his hands like he was considering its value. "That’s the magic word, isn’t it? See, the Sinaloa cartel doesn’t care about ’identified.’ We care about proof. Hard, undeniable, show-it-to-the-judge-and-jury proof. We care about our $90 million. Or, in lieu of that..." His smile turned cold. "We care about making examples out of people who steal from us."

"You’ll have your proof," I said, meeting his eyes. "Within the deadline."

"Will I?" He set the award down carefully, too carefully. "Because if I don’t, if that day comes and goes without either my money or concrete proof of who took it, my father will come to collect. One way or another. And I promise you, Layla, he won’t be as polite and charming as I am."

"Noted."

"Good." He smiled again, this one almost genuine. "Now that unpleasant business is out of the way, can we talk about my other proposition?"

I blinked. "What other proposition?"

"The one I mentioned at dinner." He moved closer, too close, invading my personal space. "You’re a beautiful woman, Layla. Intelligent. Resourceful. The kind of woman who could be a real asset to the right man."

My stomach turned. "I’m married."

"So? Marriages are just contracts. Breakable, like anything else." He reached out, his finger trailing along the edge of my desk in a way that made my skin crawl. "You’ve got spine, and I like you... very much. Once this money situation is resolved, I think you and I could come to a... mutually beneficial arrangement."

"I’m not interested."

"You should be. The benefits would be substantial. Protection, for one thing. Money. Status. All the things a smart woman values." His smile widened. "And I promise, I’d be a much better husband than Axel O’Brien. He’s weak. Sentimental. I see how he looks at you... like you’re some fragile thing that might break. I’d treat you like the strong woman you are."

"Get out of my office."

"Think about it," he said, ignoring my demand. "You have four days to solve this money problem. After that, everything changes, one way or another. Might be smart to have options lined up."

He placed the gift bag on my desk. "A small token of my esteem. Consider it a preview of the kind of life I could offer you."

Before I could respond, before I could throw the bag at his smug face, the door to my office swung open.

"Hey, darling, I was hoping to surprise you with..."

Axel froze mid-sentence. His eyes went from me to Marco, standing entirely too close to my desk, to the gift bag sitting between us.

The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked in a deep, calm and absolutely commanding voice.