The courtyard was alive with laughter.

Someone had remembered her birthday—Zaya, of course. A small cake, uneven candles, and a handful of maids singing off key between chores.

"Make a wish, Layla!" Zaya grinned, balancing the cake in both hands. The frosting slid a little to one side, but the twenty candles burned bravely anyway.

Layla laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You will get us all in trouble if Mrs. Evelyn catches us”

"Then blow fast" another maid whispered.

Layla leaned closer. Warm candlelight brushed her face. She closed her eyes….

"Layla, the chicken!"

Her eyes flew open.

The palace chef's prized white rooster escaped again—bolting straight for the gardens.

"Not again..!"

The cake wobbled dangerously in Zaya's hands.

"Catch it before Chef sees!" someone yelled.

Without thinking, Layla gathered her skirts and raced after it. Her bare feet slapped against the stone path as she darted past startled guards, laughter and shouting chasing her.

The rooster zigzagged wildly through the rose bushes, feathers flying.

"Stop! Please, stop!" she called

breathlessly.

It didn't.

Layla pushed through the final hedge and crashed hard into someone.

The impact sent them both sprawling. Her knees hit the grass first, then her palms, straight onto a man's chest as he landed beneath her.

For one stunned moment, there was only the sound of rustling leaves and her own breath.

Layla blinked. Her fingers were spread against a dark coat—expensive fabric now smeared with mud. Beneath her palms, she felt the weight of muscle, the unmistakable presence of someone very much not a fellow servant.

A low breath escaped him. " Don’t you watch where you're going?”

The voice was cold, controlled and dangerous.

She froze.

Her gaze lifted, and her heart stopped.

Silver grey eyes met hers.

Corvin Vellor. The President.

Layla's body went rigid. Heat rushed up her neck. She scrambled off him so fast she almost slipped again, her skirts twisting around her legs.

Corvin rose, brushing dirt from his sleeve.

Marcus, his chief of staff, rushed forward, wide eyed "Sir! Are you hurt?" He quickly offered a handkerchief, fussing over the stains. "Your jacket, let me…"

Corvin lifted a hand, silencing him.

Layla bowed low, words tumbling out in a rush. "I—I'm so sorry, Mr. President. The chicken, it escaped and I was just trying…"

The rooster itself walked proudly past her ankles, its white feathers shining against the dirt.

Corvin's gaze flicked to it, then back to her "I see." His tone was mild, but his eyes were unreadable. "The palace appears to have an issue with discipline."

Marcus’s face went pale. "Shall I have her dismissed, sir? Or punished?"

Corvin said nothing for a long moment. His eyes lingered on the girl before him—Mud clung to her skirt, to her hands, even to the edge of her cheek. Her golden hair in wild disarray. She couldn't have looked more out of place among the roses.

Finally, he said quietly "No. That won't be necessary."

Marcus blinked. "Sir?"

Corvin brushed the last of the dirt from his coat. "See that the staff learn to keep their poultry contained. And their servant don’t go falling on people”

He turned to leave, but something, perhaps the memory of her startled eyes, made him glance back once more.

Layla stood, her hands clasped tight, mud drying on her palms.

Corvin said nothing more. He simply turned and walked away, Marcus trailing behind him, still muttering about ruined fabric and schedules.

Only when they were gone did Layla finally exhale. She stared down at her feet and whispered to herself

"Happy birthday, Layla"

Layla pushed the food trolley carefully through the long hallway, the silver trays rattling faintly as she passed under the quiet gaze of the palace guards.Her hands gripped the handle tightly.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

Just minutes ago, she had been washing dishes in the kitchen when Miss Evelyn, the head maid, had suddenly ordered her to serve food to the president's quarters.

Layla's heart had skipped.

That wasn't her duty. She had never been assigned anywhere near the president's wing, let alone asked to deliver anything directly.

She had tried to ask why, but Miss Evelyn didn't answer. Just walked away.

Now, as she neared the grand, double doors of the president's private room, her pulse quickened. Was this about the accident in the garden? Was he going to reprimand her? Punish her?

No, she tried to reassure herself. He wouldn't bother with something so trivial. He probably doesn't even remember it.

But the tightening in her chest didn't ease.

A tall guard in black, with an earpiece clipped to his collar, stepped forward and spoke curtly "This way, Miss"

Layla gave a quiet nod and followed his gesture. The guard opened the door.

She stepped into the room, pushing the trolley cautiously. Before she could admire the opulence of the room, the door shut behind her.

Silence.

Her eyes darted around.

This wasn’t like any room in the palace she had ever seen. The ceilings were vaulted, the curtains thick. The bed at the far end of the room was massive, dressed in deep navy sheets. To the right, tall windows let in the last of the evening light.

Her footsteps were cautious on the floor.

She hadn’t seen him yet. Good. Maybe she could leave the food on the table and….

Her eyes caught on something. In the corner, near the tall windows. A black piano near the window, it was Impossibly elegant.

She took a few hesitant steps toward it, unable to stop her hand from brushing against its polished edge.

“Do you know how to play the piano?” Came the cold voice from behind

Layla flinched and turned quickly, bowing her head. “Mr.President” she called out in panic

"I asked a question” His tone wasn’t loud, but the space seemed to shrink around her

She kept her head bowed, fists tight at her sides “No, Mr president” she whispered

Her voice was delicate..almost melodic. He noticed that. He wanted to hear it again then Corvin stepped closer

"Look at me when you speak."

The words were not harsh but they carry the weight of a command.

Layla's heart pounded faster.

In the palace, staff were trained not to meet the his eyes. But she obeyed

Her gaze lifted slowly, starting with the collar of his robe, then his throat, until finally his eyes.

She inhaled sharply.

He was standing too close. Drops of water clung to his dark hair, sliding down the line of his jaw. His silver grey eyes were as cold and cutting as she remembered. He wasn’t just tall, he was intimidating. And the way he looked at her wasn’t neutral. It was intent

She dropped her gaze immediately “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I may have come at the wrong time”

“No,” he said quietly “You didn’t”

He closed the small distance between them.

Layla’s instincts screamed. She backed away slightly, her hands brushing against the food tray as she glanced up.

He studied her without apology as if filling every detail away for later

“Layla right?”

Her breath hitched. He knows my name!!

She hadn't expected that

"Yes, Mr. President" she said quickly.

“You have lived in the palace since you were twelve”

Layla blinked, startled “yes, sir”

He gave a slow nod, almost to himself “Marcus mentioned you”

Her heart skipped again. Marcus?Why would the president chief of staff ever talk about her?

Corvin said nothing more. His gaze swept over her again, from the nervous tremor in her hands to the way she clutch her dress

Layla shifted under his gaze, her discomfort growing. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

She was here to serve a meal not to be stared at like this. Not to be…

Suddenly, he leaned down and brushed his lips near her ear.

She stiffened instantly.

“Mr. President” she said, stepping back quickly “I have delivered your food. I would like to return to the kitchen”

She turned, already stepping away. But before she could reach the door, his voice came again.

"What makes you think you can leave without my permission?"

Layla stopped.

A cold anger stirred inside her.

She turned slowly, forcing a polite smile “I would like to return to my duties, Mr. president”

Corvin scoffed. That fake smile..he hated it.

He moved forward and before she could take another step..his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his chest.

Layla froze in shock.

“Let go” she said quietly. Still polite but there was steel in her voice now.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in again. This time, closer. His breath was warm against her ear.

“Why pretend,” he said softly “when you know exactly what you’re here for?”

Layla pulled back just enough to look up at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about” she said, her voice shaking now "I only came to serve your food. Nothing else"

He smirked and that was when she saw the danger.

Panic bloomed in her chest.

"Let go," she said again, more firmly. Her hand pressed against his chest. He didn't move.

Her voice rose "I said, let go, Mr. President."

He didn't listen.

Instead, he claimed her lips fiercely.

Layla struggled immediately, her hands pushing at his chest, shoving, striking but he was too strong.

Until her knee shot up hard in between his leg. Right where it hurt the most.

Corvin broke away with a sharp growl of pain, his body folding as he staggered back.

She didn't wait.

She turned and ran for the door, flinging it open. The guards outside blinked in surprise as she flew past them, breathless.

One of them recovered and rushed inside

"Mr. President!" he said, alarmed.

Corvin was standing, one hand clenched tightly at his side, breathing through the pain.

The guard hesitated, reaching for his communicator.

Corvin raised a hand "Let her be"

The guard froze.

"Sir?"

Corvin walked past him without another glance and sank into the navy armchair by the window.

He picked up a half filled glass of dark liquor from the side table

"Dismissed."

The guard lingered for a second before obeying. The door closed behind him.

Silence returned.

Corvin took a slow sip of the drink, his jaw tight but his mind wasn’t still.

He thought of her lips.

Her green eyes, voice and Layla’s defiance

She intrigued him more than he liked to admit and his desire for her had only deepened.

Corvin’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. Something darker.

He was going to make sure she comes back on her own, crawling and begging on her knees

*******^*******

Layla burst into the maids' quarters and slammed her door shut behind her. She leaned against it, chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum in her ears.

What have I done?

The image hit her again..her knee striking the President. Her hand flew to her head, fingers ravaging through her hair as if she could scratch the memory away. She started pacing, then stopped, biting the edge of her finger. An old, nervous habit she had never managed to break.

Then, slowly, she sank to the floor beside her bed.

He's not just powerful. He's a monster.

She didn't know the President was capable of... that. And she kicked him, attacked him. She had done the unthinkable..even if he deserved it.

To everyone else, she hadn't defended herself. She'd committed a crime.

A vivid, horrifying image flashed in her mind. Her back against a whipping post, lashes tearing her skin open while he watched with that smug, merciless smirk.

"Ahhh..!" she screamed, curling into herself, her face buried between her knees as the thought scorched her mind.

At 2:03 a.m

Knock knock.

Layla's eyes snapped open.

She looked around in confusion..her neck stiff, her legs numb. She had fallen asleep on the floor.

Again, the knock came harder this time.

"Layla, open up!"

Her heart jumped. That voice..Zaya.

She glanced at the clock on her vanity table. It's past two... What's happening? She stumbled up and opened the door.

Zaya stood there, wild eyed and panting.

"Your father," she blurted "Layla, it's your father”

Layla's blood turned to ice "What about him?"

Zaya swallowed hard "He's been taken. The palace guards..dragged him to the interrogation center. They said…"

"What?!" Layla shouted, her voice cracking. Panic slammed into her chest.

She didn't wait for more. She ran through the dim halls.

"Layla, wait!" Zaya called, racing after her.

They reached the interrogation block. Servants and staff crowded near the entrance, whispering urgently, heads turning as the girls pushed through.

Then she saw him.

Her father.

Chained to a chair at the center of the courtyard. Surrounded by guards. His shirt torn, face bruised, lip split open.

"Father.." she muttered.

She didn't care who was watching..she sprinted forward, falling to her knees in front of him, clutching his thigh.

"Father, what happened?" she choked out

His swollen eyes blinked slowly as he tried to speak.

Before he could answer, a voice sliced through the tension.

"Make way."

Captain Henrik Duvall, the head of palace security, stepped out from the stone interrogation building. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp eyes and a colder reputation, he carried a leather bound file under one arm. The guards instantly straightened and bowed.

Henrik returned the gesture with a curt nod and flipped open the file.

His voice cut through the silence

“Attention all palace staff. At approximately 00:15 this morning, during routine maintenance checks, a deliberate act of sabotage was discovered on the presidential motorcade. The brake system of the President's vehicle had been tampered with…an act that could have caused catastrophic failure and loss of life."

A shocked gasp rolled through the gathered crowd. Several staff members clutched their chests. Others shook their heads in disbelief.

Henrik continued, flipping to the next page without pause.

"Surveillance footage confirms Tomas Mires, the President's personal chauffeur, was seen near the vehicle at the time of tampering. Forensic teams have also found tool marks matching those found on equipment belonging to Mr. Mires"

Henrik glanced up, letting the silence settle for just a breath. Then his eyes locked onto Tomas.

"Tomas Mires is now in custody under suspicion of attempted assassination and endangering the life of the President. An investigation is underway. The government treats this act of treason with the utmost seriousness and will ensure justice is served."

He closed the file

Layla's grip on her father's leg tightened as her body shook with silent sobs. Her face was soaked with tears, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and rage.

This is wrong, this is all a lie. He didn't do this.

Tomas felt the tremble of his daughter's hands and the weight of her tears falling on his leg.

"Layla..." he said weakly

She looked up at him. His lips parted to say something more but she cut him off gently.

"You don't have to explain, Father. I know. I know you're innocent"

Tomas's shoulders slumped, his body sagging in relief as his chin dropped to his chest.

And then…

"Take him inside" Henrik ordered.

Two guards stepped forward instantly.

As they reached for him, Layla threw herself over her father, arms locked tight around his torso.

"No-no, please, you can't take him!" she cried out. "He didn't do this! You know he didn't! He's innocent!" Her tears soaked into his torn shirt. They are going to torture him. He's too old to survive what's waiting behind that door.

She could feel her father's own tears on her shoulder. It felt like her heart cracked open.

"Miss, step back” one of the guards said again, more forcefully.

But Layla wouldn't move.

Then, suddenly..hands grabbed her from behind.

Her body was yanked backward with startling force.

"Let go of me!" she shouted, twisting violently.

Henrik's grip tightened. He said nothing as the guards seized her father and began dragging him across the courtyard.

"Father!" she cried, thrashing in Henrik's arms, watching helplessly as her father disappeared into the dark stone building.

Then Henrik leaned down. His lips brushed close to her ear "You are the only one who can save your father”

Layla's body froze.

She turned sharply to face him, her gaze filled with disbelief. Before she could respond, Zaya rushed forward like a storm, grabbing Henrik's wrist and shoving his hand off Layla.

"Let go of her!" Zaya snapped, her eyes blazing with fury.

Henrik met her glare with an amused smirk then, without a word, turned and disappeared into the building.

The moment he was gone, everything fell silent.

Except for Layla's heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She stood there, motionless. Henrik's words echoing in her skull like a mantra she needed to practice.

"Layla... are you okay?" Zaya asked gently, voice soaked with worry.

Layla blinked. Her throat felt tight as she turned to her friend. Her voice was shaky

"He's right"

Zaya’s brow furrowed "What do you mean?"

But Layla didn't answer.

She gently slipped from Zaya’s grasp and began walking away. Eyes followed her. Accusing, some whispering, some Judging.

But she didn't care.

*******^******

Layla reached the President's quarters. She stood at the massive double doors, her hands trembling. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

The guards looked at her. No questions and no hesitation.

They opened the doors silently.

Layla's hand gripped the hem of her dress. She bowed her head and stepped inside.

The door shut quietly behind her. Then she saw him.

Corvin Vellor.

Standing by the window.

Dressed in a white satin shirt and tailored trousers, his hands tucked into his pockets. The glow of the moon outlined the sharp angles of his face as he stared out over the darkened courtyard.

Layla didn't hesitate.

She dropped to her knees. Her forehead bowed to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Please... save my father, Mr. President”

A smirk curled on Corvin's lips before he finally turned to face her. He took two slow steps forward, the sound of his shoes echoing in the still room.

His voice was cool and mocking.

"Not even three hours... and already, you are back in my chambers”

Layla said nothing.

Corvin let the silence linger.

"Beg, Layla"

Her chest ached as she fought the tears burning in her eyes.

"Please" she pleaded "I'm begging you, Mr. President. Save my father... he's innocent"

Corvin watched her with interest, savoring every word.He was pleased

"On your feet " he said

His words landed like a command. Layla rose immediately, though her eyes remained lowered.

"Closer."

She obeyed, stepping forward until only two inches separated them. Corvin closed the remaining space himself, his fingers lifting her chin.

Their eyes met.

"You know what I want," he said, his voice low "Give it to me... and all charges will disappear. Your father walks free and no criminal record”

Layla's fists clenched at her sides.

Her father's bruised face flashed in her mind. The tears he hadn't let her see. The strength he tried to wear like armor. The possibility that he could die in that cell if she refused.

This wasn't the time to protect her pride.

Not when someone she loved might pay the price.

Her gaze finally lifted to meet his.

A quiet, bitter strength flickered in her eyes.

"Yes, Mr. President” she said, voice steady now "I'm ready... to give myself to you"