'I Do' For Revenge-Chapter 237: Destroy Your Enemy
~LAYLA~
Sunlight hit my eyelids, demanding the attention I wasn’t ready to give. I groaned, trying to bury my face back into the pillow, but a heavy, warm weight across my waist pinned me in place.
"No running," his rough, sleep-heavy voice rumbled against the shell of my ear. "It’s too early."
I smiled, keeping my eyes closed as I leaned back into the solid warmth of Axel’s chest. His arm tightened around me, his nose nuzzling the sensitive spot where my neck met my shouolder, a spot he had paid very close attention to only a few hours ago.
"You’re the one who woke me up," I murmured, turning in his hold until I was facing him.
Axel looked devastating in the morning light. His dark hair was messy, sticking up in a way that made him look younger, less like the ruthless CEO and more like the man who had just spent the entire night ’worshipping’ me.
His eyes were heavy-lidded but focused entirely on my face.
"I didn’t wake you," he defended lazily, one hand coming up to trace the line of my jaw. "I was just checking your pulse. Making sure you survived the night."
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as memories of the previous hours came flooding back. "I think I survived," I whispered. "Though I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to walk properly today."
Axel’s grin was a proud, satisfactory one. "Good. That means I did my job."
He leaned in and kissed me, a slow, lazy press of lips that tasted of sleep and satisfaction. It wasn’t urgent like last night; it was comfortable. It was the kiss of a husband who knew he had forever.
"Happy day-after-birthday," he murmured against my mouth.
"Is that a thing?"
"It is now." He rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him so I was straddling his hips. The friction of skin on skin made me shiver. "So, what’s the agenda for today, Mrs. O’Brien? It’s Sunday. The office is closed. The Duke is safe. The world thinks we’re grieving."
He ran his hands up and down my bare back.
"I can block all of our calls, and we decide to stay in this bed until Monday morning. Order takeouts. Watch bad movies. Sleep."
I rested my chin on his chest, tracing the faint scar on his collarbone. "That sounds perfect," I admitted, and for a second, I actually considered it, just disappearing into this bubble of safety.
But then my mind drifted to the kitchen downstairs, specifically to the black marble island where I had left the battered tin can from the manor, the one containing my mom’s letters.
I sighed, the tension returning to my shoulders.
"What is it?" Axel asked immediately, sensing the shift in my mood. " Layla, if you’re worrying about Charles..."
"It’s not Charles," I said, sitting up and pulling the sheet around me. "It’s the tin. The one from the Manor."
Axel frowned. "The one with your mother’s letters? I thought you read them when you found them."
"I read a few," I said, swinging my legs off the bed. "I read enough to know that Isabelle manipulated my grandfather into hating my father. I read enough to know she forged debts to make him look like a gold digger. I didn’t go through all though."
I looked back at him.
"I need to go through them properly. If we’re going to take back the estate... if we’re going to expose Isabelle for who she really is... I need to know exactly what she did twenty-five years ago."
Axel let out a sigh as the happy morning light faded from his eyes, turning into a serious look. He sat up, and the sheet slipped down to his waist.
"So much for a lazy Sunday," he murmured, but he was already getting out of bed. "Okay. Let’s go see what ghosts Isabelle left behind."
—
Thirty minutes later, showered and wearing one of Axel’s oversized shirts over leggings, I sat at the kitchen island.
The penthouse was quiet. The staff had cleared away the remnants of the birthday celebration, leaving the space spotless. It felt like the calm before a storm.
Axel placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me and leaned against the counter opposite, watching me with intensity.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded and pulled the rusty tin toward me.
I opened the lid. The smell of old paper and vanilla wafted out—my mother’s scent.
I took the letters out carefully. I had skimmed Michael’s letters, the ones where he begged Victoria to leave because Isabelle was poisoning the Duke against them.
"It’s mostly love letters," I said softly.
Axel picked up one of the envelopes. "This is good for context, but it’s not hard evidence. Isabelle can claim she was just a concerned sister protecting Victoria from a fortune hunter."
"I know," I said, frustrated. I picked up the empty tin, turning it over in my hands. It felt heavier than an empty tin should.
I shook it. There was a dull thud from inside, but not from the walls. It came from the bottom.
"Axel," I said, frowning. "Look at this."
I held the tin up. The inside bottom was raised slightly, a false floor of rusted metal that didn’t quite match the container’s lip. It was an old trick, a hiding spot within a hiding spot.
"Give me a knife," Axel said.
I handed him a butter knife from the counter. He worked the tip into the seam of the false bottom and pried it upward. With a sharp snap, the rusted metal plate popped loose.
Underneath, pressed flat against the real bottom of the tin, was a thin, black notebook. It wasn’t a diary and looked like a pocket jotter.
"She hid hid it even from the main stash." I whispered.
I pulled the little book out. The cover was worn leather. I opened it. It wasn’t daily entries. It was a log of incidents.
November 4th, 1998 Isabelle found out about the baby today. I thought she would be happy. Instead, she told me a bastard child would ruin the family name. She said Father would never accept it. But she smiled when she said it.
I flipped a few pages forward.
December 12th, 1998 She came to my room again. She told me accidents happen on the estate all the time. She mentioned Edward’s boating accident as if it were a joke. She said if I didn’t leave, Michael might have an accident on his way to the village. She wants the title. She wants it so badly, I think she’d kill for it.
I looked up at Axel, my hand trembling. "She threatened to kill my father," I whispered. "She terrified my mother into leaving. It wasn’t just about love, Axel. They ran because Isabelle threatened to hurt them."
Axel took the notebook and scanned the entry I pointed at. His jaw tightened. "She established a pattern of intimidation twenty-five years ago. She cleared the board so she could be the sole beneficiary."
"But it’s just a notebook," I said, feeling the weight of the injustice. "It’s my mother’s word against hers. Isabelle is the executor. She has the lawyers, the money, and the influence. A twenty-year-old notebook found in a biscuit tin isn’t going to get her thrown in jail."
"No," Axel agreed, closing the notebook with a snap. "In a court of law, this is hearsay. But we aren’t in a court of law yet."
He looked away for a few seconds.
"We have the one person who matters more than a judge," Axel said. "The Duke believes Isabelle is just greedy. He thinks she forged debts and lied about you. But he doesn’t know she threatened his daughter’s life. He doesn’t know she used his name to terrorise her own sister."
"If we show him this..." I hesitated. "He just had a massive stroke, Axel. This could kill him."
"Or," Axel said, walking around the island to stand next to me, "it could give him the one thing he’s been missing."
"What?"
"A target," Axel said grimly. "Silas is grieving. He thinks he failed his children. He’s wallowing in guilt. But if he knows his daughter didn’t just leave him and that Isabelle pushed her? His grief will turn to rage."
He placed his hand over mine on the notebook.
"And a pissed-off Duke is a lot more useful to us than a sad one."
I looked at the leather book. It was heavy with the weight of my mother’s fear. She had run away to protect me, to protect my father. She had let Isabelle win because she chose love over fighting.
But I wasn’t Victoria. I was Layla O’Brien. And I was done running.
"You’re right," I said, standing up and clutching the notebook. "He needs to know. He needs to know exactly who has been sitting at his breakfast table for the last twenty years."
Axel smirked, that dangerous, shark-like grin returning. "Let’s go wake up the lion."
"And after that?" I asked.
"After that," Axel said, checking his watch as if scheduling a meeting, "we figure out how to take back Blackwood Manor. Isabelle threw you out like a trespasser. I think it’s time we returned as the owners."
"It’s a Sunday," I reminded him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the heavy subject. "I thought we were resting."
"We are," Axel said, opening the door for me. "Destroying your enemies is very relaxing. Didn’t you know?"
