My Ex-Wife's Deadly SecretChapter 1
On the day I married Layla Matthews, my mother was run over and killed.
The hit-and-run driver was Bryce Gilbert—the young heir Layla had raised herself.
In the traffic footage released by police, Bryce's Maybach dragged my mother for miles. By the time he stopped, white bone gleamed through torn flesh.
"This time, he went too far. Whatever you decide, I'll stand by you."
In eight years together, it was the first time Layla had ever taken my side.
Empowered by her support, I filed charges against Bryce Gilbert for intentional homicide.
But the night before the trial, Layla threw a blank check at me and demanded I withdraw.
"Bryce is young. He doesn't understand consequences. Boys make mistakes—I've already punished him." Her voice was dismissive. "Prison will ruin his entire life."
"He killed someone, Layla!"
She wouldn't listen.
To ensure I missed court, she had me locked in the basement. I was already weak, and three days in the damp cold without food nearly broke me.
In that darkness, the truth finally crystallized: in Layla's world, I didn't exist. I never had.
——
After three days, the heavy door creaked open. Layla stepped into the dim light.
"About withdrawing the lawsuit—have you thought it through?"
No asking if I was okay. No food or water. Her first words were for that pampered murderer she called family.
I forced my head up, grinding my teeth to stop my jaw from trembling.
"I will never withdraw." My voice was raspy but firm. "Bryce will pay for what he did."
Layla crossed her legs. Shadows hid her expression, but the chill in her gaze was unmistakable.
"He's young," she repeated, bored. "He drank too much and hit your mother. That's all. I'll pay compensation—write whatever number you want on that check. Still not enough?"
She leaned forward. "Based on your mother's age—sixty—legal compensation would be a million at most. You're actually profiting from this."
Profiting.
The word hit me like a physical blow. Air caught in my throat. Acid churned in my stomach as cold sweat broke across my skin.
"That was my mother!" I choked out. "The woman who gave birth to me! She's not something you measure with money!"
I slammed my palm against the floor. "Bryce knew he hit someone. He knew, and he still dragged her until she was crushed. That's not an accident—that's murder! Shouldn't he pay for his own crimes?"