2. IN HIS CAGE
LAYLA || NOW
Layla slumped onto the couch beside Lilly’s bed. Her feet ached, every muscle in her body stiffened from the day’s exhaustion.
She hated the rain, hated the biting chill of Ylumia’s monsoon nights.
A sudden clap of thunder made Lilly tremble. Instantly, Layla was on her feet, closing the windows and tucking her daughter under the brown blanket.
A knock at the door froze her in place. She held her breath, listening. Six years had passed, yet a knock still made her heart race.
“Layla. It’s Raya.” Relief flooded her chest at the familiar voice.
She ushered her friend inside before shutting the front door. Raya, still in scrubs, walked into the tiny house like a calming presence amid chaos.
“How did it go?” Raya asked.
Layla shook her head. “He didn’t even listen.”
Pity flickered across Raya’s face, and Layla recoiled. Her life was full of pity stares. She didn’t need sympathy. She needed solutions.
“What do we do now? I’ve filtered the entire city. He’s our only option.”
Layla’s mind went back to those piercing blue eyes, the cold indifference, the unbothered man who could save her daughter. “He won’t move. He won’t help. There must be another way. You have to find one, Raya,” she pleaded.
“I wouldn’t send you to the devil if there was another way,” Raya said firmly. “You know that.”
Layla didn’t doubt it. Ylumia belonged to Zaley, and the fear he inspired ran through everyone, even Raya. Meeting him was dangerous; crossing him was unthinkable. Yet here she was, already in his path and rejected.
Lilly stirred in her sleep. The last month had weakened her so much that walking alone seemed impossible. Watching her daughter’s fragile body brought a sharp, throbbing pain to Layla’s heart. She had to save her.
“I’ll meet him again,” Layla said, determination hardening her voice, “again and again, until he agrees.”
It had become her ritual: come home defeated, cry silently after Lilly slept, then rally herself for tomorrow. Some days were easier; some days, she wished she never woke. But Lilly’s life gave her strength. Everything she did, every ounce of courage, was for her little girl.
“Layla,” Raya whispered, concern heavy in her tone. “You know how dangerous it is. He can erase you in seconds. Don’t go after him. You saw what happened to the Keatons.”
The story was infamous. Five Keaton cousins, defiant, dead—sixty feet under the sea. Ylumia had learned its lesson: Zaley ruled the city without question.
“I have no other option,” Layla said plainly.
“I wish there were a way out,” Raya murmured, caressing Lilly’s head. “I heard you can find him at the Pristine Bar tomorrow. My husband said he’s meeting the Mayor there. Give it a try. I’ll watch Lilly on my day off.”
Layla whispered her thanks, guilt prickling her chest for stealing Raya’s rare day off. But there was no time to hesitate. Lilly’s life was on the line.
The next evening, Layla entered Ylumia’s club for the city’s social elite. Beyond the discreet entrance lay a world of luxury: plush carpets muffled her footsteps, crystal chandeliers bathed the grand lobby in soft light, and a faint scent of refinement lingered in the air. Thanks to Raya’s husband, she had one night of waitressing access.
Soaring ceilings, intricate moldings, and a space that transformed at the push of a button—elegance for a gala, pulsating lights for a dance floor. Women clung to men’s arms like possessions.
What were these people? she wondered. How was her life so difficult while they lived like this? When would she leave this city?
A staff member switched positions, and Layla slipped into the VIP room—almost empty of women, mostly men, older, powerful. Only waitresses like her entered freely.
She searched for the icy blue gaze she remembered so well. There he was, at the head of the dining table, commanding attention without a word. A tuxedo clung to him perfectly, every inch the predator she hated needing mercy from.
His eyes met hers for a moment, then fell to the tray in her hands. Her grip tightened. Ten seconds of scrutiny passed before he looked away.
She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She’d never seen eyes like that—deep, endless blue, like the ocean, the cosmos, chaos, and sky rolled into one.
Someone smacked her from behind. She stiffened and glared at a man in his seventies. “Nice ass,” he sneered—and smacked again.
Before she could react, another hand squeezed her. Rage boiled in her chest. She could kill if Lilly weren’t waiting at home. Her eyes found Zaley’s again. His stare was cold, unflinching, like he saw everything yet did nothing.
“Do something,” her gaze pleaded silently.
Why would he? He was king here, untouchable.
“Eyes down,” a girl hissed from behind.
“Wine here,” another bald man commanded, smirking.
Something inside her snapped. The world hadn’t changed. She wouldn’t let it win. She didn’t serve the wine. She walked toward the exit. All the while, his eyes never left hers.
“Things like that happen here. Why enter if you can’t tolerate it?” another girl asked in the washroom.
“Does that make it okay?” Layla shot back, seeing her own reflection.
The girl stared a moment, then muttered, “You know how the world is,” and left.
Layla took a deep breath. Another day lost. Another tip gone. She wanted to wash herself from the touch of every hand. The hair on her neck prickled. Fingers paused.
Then she looked up.
Zaley.
Piercing blue eyes, still unblinking, staring at her through the mirror.
Her heart thrummed. She felt trapped, exposed, inside his cage, even in a ladies’ toilet. And he had stepped inside her space.
