CHAPTER 157: THE BOSS WANTS HER

~LAYLA~

The Watson factories came online in just six days.

Six days of round-the-clock shifts, expedited permits, and enough coffee to fuel a small army. But we did it.

By Monday morning, Revenge Red, our best-selling lipstick shade, rolled off three new production lines. Crates were stacked to the rafters, and delivery trucks idled at every loading bay.

For the first time in weeks, demand met supply.

Helena texted me a selfie from the flagship store floor. Behind her, the shelves groaned under restocked products, and customers stood three deep at every counter.

I screenshotted it immediately, captioned it "WE DID IT," and sent it to the company chat. The replies flooded in: heart emojis, champagne GIFs, and celebration memes.

For one full afternoon, I believed the war was over.

That illusion lasted exactly four days.

Friday night brought the annual Industry Excellence Gala, one of those mandatory events where competitors pretended to be friendly while sizing each other up.

Normally I’d have skipped it, but Axel insisted we show strength, prove Eclipse Beauty wasn’t backing down despite the recent attacks.

The venue was spectacular.

A rooftop garden overlooking the city, string lights wrapped around every column, champagne flowing like water. I wore jade green... Axel said it made my eyes look like fire, and he looked devastating in his black tuxedo.

"Smile," he murmured as we entered. "We’re winners tonight."

"We’re targets," I corrected quietly.

"Winners who happen to be targets. There’s a difference."

I was reaching for a champagne flute when a familiar voice stopped me cold.

"Layla."

I turned slowly.

Charles Watson stood at the champagne fountain, looking impeccable in a tuxedo, his smile looking surprisingly civil. He lifted his glass toward me. "You took my daughter’s company and made it sing. Well played."

I waited for the insult, the veiled threat, the typical Charles Watson venom. But it never came.

He clinked his glass against mine... like actually clinked it, and walked away without another word.

"Did that just happen?" I asked Axel, who’d appeared at my side.

"I saw it. Still processing it."

"Charles Watson just congratulated me, civilly."

"Maybe prison changed Cassandra, and guilt changed him."

"Or maybe he’s planning something worse."

"Always the optimist."

"Always the realist."

Valentina glided over next, her silver gown catching the light like liquid mercury. Her laugh was lighter than our last encounter, less calculated.

"Layla! You look stunning. That colour is perfect on you."

"Thank you. You look beautiful too."

"My apologies for how it went on our first meet. I shouldn’t have teased you or made an assumption to imply that your husband and I were... together."

I nodded, dismissing it like an adult should. "It’s fine."

"Truce?" She extended her hand, this time without the mocking undertone.

I hesitated, then shook it. "Truce."

"Good. Because honestly, torturing you was fun, but exhausting. You’re tougher than you look."

"Is that a compliment?"

"From me? Absolutely." She grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "How’s business? I heard the Watson acquisition went smoothly."

"Smoother than expected, actually. Production’s back on track."

"And the cartel situation?"

I stiffened. "How do you know about that?"

"Layla, darling, everyone in our circle knows. Money talks, and threats talk louder." She lowered her voice. "My father has connections. If you need help navigating those waters, call me."

"I... thank you."

"Don’t look so shocked. Not everyone in this industry is cutthroat all the time." She winked. "Sometimes we’re only cutthroat ninety per cent of the time."

Despite myself, I laughed.

The evening progressed smoothly. Speeches were delivered, awards were presented, and networking took place. Axel worked the room like the natural he was, charming investors and competitors alike.

At about 11:47... yeah, I had just checked the time a few minutes ago... when the lights went out, throwing everything into total darkness for a few seconds.

Then, the emergency lights snapped on, bathing the entire place in a blood-red glow.

A single gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of glass shattering somewhere behind me. Suddenly, screams filled the air. People hit the ground, frantically looking for cover and pushing towards the exits in a panic.

"Layla!" Axel’s voice, somewhere to my left. "Get down!"

I dropped behind the bar, my heart hammering against my ribs. My hands shook as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

Through the chaos, I peeked over the counter.

Four men dressed in waiter tuxedos moved against the tide of fleeing guests. Their faces were covered with black masks, rifles held low but ready.

This wasn’t random; this was coordinated.

One of them turned, scanning the crowd, until his eyes locked onto mine. Then he lifted something smaller... a syringe gun.

"No..." I gasped, turning around to run.

The next thing I felt was a sudden, sharp pain in my neck. Ice raced through my veins, spreading from the injection site like wildfire.

My legs gave out. The world tilted sideways.

"Axel..." I tried to call out, but my voice came out as barely a whisper.

Strong hands grabbed me, lifting me. I tried to fight, tried to scream, but my body wouldn’t respond. The drug worked fast, shutting down everything.

The last thing I saw was the lights above, spinning in red, white, and gold, all blurring together.

Then darkness swallowed me whole.

—

Cold.

That was the first thing I could think of when consciousness returned. The floor felt freezing against my skin, a hard metal surface that seemed to steal warmth from my thin dress.

I tried to move, but I couldn’t as my wrists were bound behind my back with zip-ties. My ankles, too.

I felt something heavy over my head, like a hood made of thick fabric that reeked of oil and mould. Panic shot through me as I struggled against the restraints holding me down, but they wouldn’t budge.

A low, rhythmic growl shook the floor beneath me. It was the sound of an engine, and I realised we were moving. The gentle rocking and the salty smell that seeped through the fabric told me I was on a boat.

"Axel?" I croaked in a weak and barely audible voice. "Are you there?"

There was no answer, just the engine’s steady rumble and the soft sound of water lapping against the hull.

I shouted, desperation creeping into my voice. "Someone answer me! Where am I? What do you want?"

"She’s awake," a male voice said from somewhere.

"Good," another voice replied, this one with an accent I couldn’t place. "The boss wants her conscious when we arrive."