"You donate a kidney to Winona, and we can have a child."

Westley's voice was icy, his gaze filled with disdain. Lyla Hunt, sitting across from him, felt her face turn ashen. She had just regained consciousness after fainting from donating too much blood to Winona. And now they wanted her to donate a kidney as well, in exchange for the promise of a child with Westley Grant?

Two years ago, he had made a similar deal: "If you donate blood to Winona, we can get married." Lyla had agreed. She had been smitten with Westley for so long, convinced that time and companionship would kindle love in his heart. But after two years of marriage, he spent more time with Winona than with her, his wife, and had never even touched her.

Grandpa Grant kept urging them to have a child, eager for a great-grandchild. But how could that happen when Westley wouldn't even be with her? How was she supposed to have a child on her own? Lyla hoped that perhaps having a child would improve their relationship.

Her smile was bitter and self-deprecating. While others joked about swapping a kidney for a phone, she was expected to trade one for a child.

Westley stood and walked toward her hospital bed, impatience etched in his voice. "What are you laughing at?"

Lyla let out a dry laugh. "I'm laughing at myself, for being such a fool!"

She had fainted from blood loss, and Westley hadn't shown any concern. All that mattered to him was her donating a kidney to Winona.

What would he ask for next—her corneas, maybe her heart?

In Westley's eyes, Lyla indeed seemed foolish. He couldn't see a single admirable quality in her. If it weren't for her rare blood type matching Winona's, he wouldn't have agreed to fulfill his grandfather's wish by marrying her.

His gaze turned even colder. "Winona's surgery is in three days. Get yourself ready; I don't want her receiving a flawed kidney."

Confident she would comply, Westley turned to leave. But as he reached the doorway, Lyla's determined voice stopped him.

"I will never donate a kidney to Winona."

Westley paused, frowning, thinking he must have misheard. It was just a kidney in exchange for a child—surely she wouldn't refuse.

He turned back, his voice cold with insistence. "What did you just say?"

Clearing her throat, Lyla spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. "Even if I were to feed my kidney to the dogs, I would never give it to Winona. Do you get that?"

Westley stormed back to her bedside. "This isn't the time to be stubborn. I've already agreed to have a child with you."

Lyla trembled with anger. "I don't want a child that costs me a kidney!"

Westley rubbed his temples, exasperation in his voice. "Lyla, be reasonable. Donating a kidney to Winona won't harm your life much."

"But if Winona doesn't get this kidney, her life is in danger."

Lyla stared at him, struggling to comprehend how the man she loved could be so heartless.

When had she become so blind?

Finally, she found her voice, strained and hoarse. "If losing a kidney is no big deal, why don't you donate yours to Winona?"

Westley hesitated before saying blandly, "Your kidney is the best match. Just stay here and rest; I'll have Aunt Martha bring your meals."

Before Lyla could reply, Westley left the room, the door slamming shut, echoing the finality of his departure. Tears streamed down her face. Over the past two years, she had cooked, cleaned, and worried over Westley more than herself.

And for what? Not only was she unable to thaw his icy heart, but now he wanted her kidney.

The kidney was intact, but Lyla felt as though her heart had been torn apart.

She sobbed, pounding the pillow in rage, until Norah Warren entered the room.

Lyla froze, looking at Norah through tear-filled eyes.

Norah handed her a tissue, waiting patiently for her tears to stop before gently asking, "Lyla, are you sure you want to divorce him?"

Lyla nodded decisively. "Norah, Westley doesn't care for me at all. He only married me to turn me into a donor for Winona."

Tears welled up again as Lyla's whole being ached.

Norah, always the skilled lawyer, offered kindly, "I can help negotiate the property settlement for you."

Though Lyla knew Norah was an excellent attorney, she felt too ashamed to accept help. Her smile was more painful than crying. "Thank you, Norah, but we have a prenuptial agreement. His assets aren't mine."

Norah wasn't surprised, and instead asked, "When are you planning to tell him you want a divorce?"

Lyla picked up the divorce papers on the table. "He's probably in Winona's room now. I'm going to find him."

She hesitated, feeling dizzy, but she wanted to finalize the divorce immediately, before she lost her kidney.

Norah linked arms with Lyla. "I'll come with you and record the conversation."

"Thank you, Norah." Lyla felt a small flicker of warmth in her cold heart.

As they approached Winona's room, Norah started recording on her phone and activated the hidden voice recorder in her bag, taking every precaution.

Without knocking, Lyla pushed the door open. She found Winona on the bed, Westley beside her, peeling an apple.

It hurt that he had never peeled an apple for her, though she often did it for him.

Winona bit into the apple and smiled sweetly at Lyla. "Thanks for agreeing to donate your kidney, Lyla."

Lyla almost faltered. When had she agreed to that?

Luckily, Norah was there to steady her. Lyla turned to Westley, who spoke first. "Why aren't you resting? Why are you here?"

Seeing Lyla's pale face, Norah asked worriedly, "Lyla, are you alright?"

Lyla nodded, managing a weak smile. "I'm okay."

She walked toward the bed, slowly but surely. Once there, she looked at Winona with a twisted smile. "No need to thank me. I'm never giving you my kidney."

"And don't bother calling me sister anymore. Congratulations, you can stop being the other woman."

With that, she threw the divorce papers at Westley.

From the night of her eighteenth birthday when she first fell for him to now, at twenty-five, feeling utterly disillusioned... Seven years! The prime of her youth, all for a man like him. There was now hatred in Lyla Hunt's eyes as she looked at Westley Grant.

Westley tossed the divorce papers onto the coffee table, rising swiftly with a gaze that was icy and fierce. "Lyla Hunt, are you out of your mind?"

Lyla stood her ground, meeting Westley's eyes without a hint of fear. Norah Warren was present, and if Westley dared to lay a hand on her, it would all be caught on video.

Lyla crossed her arms over her chest and raised her voice. "I'm perfectly sane. It's you and her who are the ones out of line." After glancing at the wan-looking woman beside them, Lyla continued to address Westley. "Tomorrow morning at nine, in front of the courthouse."

If it weren't already approaching six in the evening, Lyla would have gone to finalize the divorce papers right then and there. Tears welled in the other woman's eyes, making her appear more pitiful.

"Lyla, you've misunderstood," the woman said meekly. "I'm too frail to possibly have anything going on with Westley."

Lyla, however, was well aware that nothing physical had happened between Westley and the woman, Winona, as she had seen all the tender gestures Westley offered her on social media. The more Lyla thought about it, the colder her smile became. She mimicked Winona's soft-spoken manner. "Winona, are you telling me you don't have even the slightest affection for Westley?"

Winona blushed, casting a sidelong glance at Westley. "Lyla, Westley is amazing. Isn't it normal for me to admire him? But we have never done anything to betray you."

Recording the whole scene, Norah couldn't help but click her tongue. Lyla remained calm, arching an eyebrow at Winona. "You adore him, and he takes such good care of you. I'll step aside and let you two have each other. Everyone wins."

Westley's eyebrows knit together in frustration. "Lyla Hunt, how long are you going to keep this up?"

It took all of Lyla's restraint not to pick up the letter opener from the table and throw it at Westley. "Lyla, are you divorcing Westley because you don't want to donate your kidney to me?" Winona asked, her voice full of feigned innocence.

Lyla shook her head firmly and waved her hands dismissively. "Whether or not I get divorced, I won't be donating my kidney."

"I'm divorcing your beloved Westley because I've finally come to my senses." Lyla moved to the hospital room door, linking arms with Norah. She shot a cold glance at Westley, her words as icy as her gaze. "Mr. Grant, tomorrow morning at nine, don't be late."

Westley's eyes were full of disdain. "Lyla Hunt, are you using divorce as a threat?"

Lyla nodded without hesitation. "Yes, I'm threatening you. If you're late tomorrow, face the consequences."

Westley smirked, countering, "Before you try to threaten me, think about your own worth. If it weren't for Winona, I would never have married you."

"Lyla Hunt, you're going to donate that kidney whether you want to or not. If you keep causing trouble, there will be payback."

Seeing Winona's smug smile and Westley's cold demeanor, Lyla couldn't hold back any longer. She stomped her heel hard on Westley's foot. "Let's wait and see."

With that, Lyla grabbed Norah and left quickly. She knew full well that when it came to physical confrontations, neither she nor Norah stood a chance against Westley.

Lyla had a fresh copy of the divorce papers printed and made sure Norah sent her the video and audio recordings. Back at the mansion she shared with Westley, she unpacked some still-steaming takeout.

She ate while watching the video of Westley. The more she watched, the less appetite she had. She flipped her phone face down on the table as memories of the past two years flooded back—how she had cared for Westley, cooked for him...

And just like that, she lost her appetite completely. But thinking of tomorrow's "showdown," she forced herself to finish the tomato basil soup.

Since their marriage, Lyla and Westley had always slept in separate rooms, and Westley had never come to her room. As a result, she was careless and didn't lock her door.

When the door swung open, Lyla quickly sat up in bed. Her feet had barely touched the ground when Westley roughly hauled her up.

His gaze was icy enough to freeze her in place. "Lyla Hunt, you refuse to donate a kidney to Winona and use divorce as leverage. Do you doubt my resolve?"

Feeling utterly unsafe, Lyla's small frame went rigid. "...," was all she could muster before Westley roughly tore her nightgown.

Slap!

In utter shock, Lyla struck Westley across the face. She had once thought of having a child with him, but now all she wanted was a divorce.

Westley, not expecting Lyla to hit him, stood momentarily stunned. Lyla quickly wrapped a blanket around herself and ran for the door.

She feared Westley's retaliation; he could end her as easily as squashing an ant. As Westley came to his senses, his expression grew as dark as storm clouds.

"Get out."

Even though it was her room, Lyla knew when to strategically retreat. "Alright, I'm leaving. Mr. Grant, don't forget: nine o'clock tomorrow at the courthouse."

Wrapped in a blanket, Lyla dashed down to a guest room. This time, she was smart: she locked the door and blocked it with a chair.

She didn't sleep well, waking up to see panda-like circles under her eyes in the mirror. She decided a little makeup wouldn't hurt before she left.

Since it was still early, and unsurprisingly, Westley wasn't home. He probably left last night. By 8:50, Lyla was already at the courthouse.

But by nearly ten, Westley still hadn't shown up or answered her calls. Frustrated, Lyla muttered under her breath, "Westley Grant, if you're going to be so heartless, don't blame me for being ruthless."

Hailing a cab, she instructed the driver, "To Grant Enterprises, please."

Having often delivered lunch to Westley at work, the receptionists knew her well enough not to stop her. Arriving at the CEO's office, Lyla didn't bother knocking and stormed in.

Seeing Westley alone, she approached his desk with determination. "You're deliberately avoiding the courthouse, aren't you?"

With no trace of guilt, the man nodded. "Yes, I'm busy and have no time for petty games."

Lyla's smile was chilling. She placed her phone on the desk, pointing at the screen. "If you don't proceed with the divorce, I'll have no choice but to give this video to the police, and you'll have to answer for coercing me to donate a kidney to Winona."

Once Westley saw the video, he quickly stood, his gaze turning vicious. His voice was frigid. "Lyla Hunt, you have a death wish."

Lyla had already put her phone away and stepped back. She smirked defiantly. "Westley Grant, maybe you're avoiding the divorce because you've fallen for me?"

Westley's laugh was harsh. "I'd sooner fall for a pig than ever care for you."

Lyla Hunt sailed through her divorce from Westley Grant in under ten minutes, thanks to the absence of children or property disputes. She emerged from the city clerk's office, clutching the divorce papers, and sighed with relief. Playing mind games with someone as self-absorbed as Westley, she'd found that a bit of reverse psychology worked wonders.

Westley's voice—cool and dismissive—still echoed in her mind: "Lyla, you'll be begging me to take you back within three days."

Without missing a beat, she retorted, "Not a chance."

He didn't bother arguing, merely curling his lips into a sardonic smile before slipping into his luxury car and driving away.

With a smirk, Lyla called after the retreating vehicle, "Westley, I washed my hands of foolishness long ago. I wouldn't come crawling back, even if you offered me a fortune!"

Buoyed by fresh resolve, Lyla flagged down a taxi, heading to stay at Norah Warren's place temporarily. Their friend Joelle Starr was off in L.A. filming, so Lyla could squat in Joelle's room until she landed a job and found her own place.

Armed with a degree from a music conservatory, Lyla had been the lead singer in a band she started with friends. But marriage to Westley had led to the band's disbandment. It was painful to reflect on those days; her musical dreams seemed out of reach now, not only because they were costly but also because they weren't exactly a goldmine.

Thankfully, she was a proficient pianist with advanced certifications. By the time she'd sifted through listings for piano tutor positions and openings in music stores, it was already 2 a.m. Too anxious to sleep, she worried she wouldn't find work and might have to return to Westley with the absurd offer to donate a kidney to his mistress.

Lyla was thankful for friends like Norah and Joelle during tough times. One provided companionship; the other offered a place to stay, clothes, and makeup—and they'd both offer financial help if necessary. Joelle might not be earning millions as an actress, but her generosity spoke volumes.

It was Norah and Joelle's support that bolstered Lyla's belief that with perseverance and hard work, she'd turn things around. Yet, reality delivered a harsh jolt. Music schools and stores showed interest until they heard her name, and then abruptly backed out.

This was unnervingly odd. Finally, the wife of a store owner discreetly suggested she might have offended someone powerful. Angry and impatient, Lyla zoomed off on Joelle's scooter. Westley, you lowlife, just wait.

Crash! Taking a sharp turn too fast, Lyla collided with a sleek black car, sending both her and the scooter sprawling. Looking up, she saw the car's badge.

Oh great, a Rolls-Royce. Selling both kidneys might not cover the damage.

"Are you alright?" a man's voice pierced her haze. Lyla looked up, taking in the man's ensemble—black pants, black shirt, and a face that could have been chiseled from marble. Blinking several times, she wondered if her sight was playing tricks.

Marcellus West leaned down, his gaze almost burning into hers. Was Marcellus hallucinating from longing for someone named Ashling? Yet Lyla knew she wasn't mistaken as she stared at the face so close to hers.

It seemed fate had slammed one door shut but opened another. How else could she have crashed right into Westley's nemesis, the dignified Marcellus West?

Lyla's eyes twinkled with an idea, her lips curling into a sly grin. The enemy of her enemy might just be her ally.

Pressing his temples in exasperation, Marcellus avoided looking directly at Lyla. His voice was deep and commanding as he offered, "I should take you to a hospital."

Grasping his arm to stand, Lyla shook her head. "No need. It's just a scrape."

Fortunately, the car hadn't been moving fast, or she might have been flattened. Still holding onto his arm, she beamed at him, "You're Mr. West, right?"

Even with Lyla's hands dirty, Marcellus, typically fastidious, didn't brush her off. He nodded slightly, asking, "You're certain you're alright?"

"Absolutely." Releasing his arm, she stood firmly, glancing at the car's scratch. Her eyes darted with cunning as she mulled over a plan.

With sincerity, she suggested, "Mr. West, does your company need employees? I could pay for the repairs gradually, deducted from my paycheck."

Being Westley's rival, Marcellus likely wouldn't hesitate to offer her a job. Feeling his intense gaze, Lyla knew she was out of options—and she needed work, desperately.

Ignoring her suggestion, Marcellus turned to his assistant, Ezra Simpson. "Take care of this," he instructed.

"Yes, sir," Ezra responded, though his attention seemed divided, fixed on how much Lyla resembled someone named Ashling.

Abandoning the scooter, Lyla waited anxiously for Marcellus's reply. His deep, magnetic voice shattered the stillness: "Can you walk?"

Lyla nodded, "Yes, I can," and hurried to catch up, ignoring the pain in her knee. When Marcellus opened the passenger door for her, she climbed in swiftly.

Despite Westley's depiction of Marcellus as conniving and ruthless, Lyla now questioned that characterization. Love had clearly blinded her to the real heartlessness.

Politely expressing her gratitude, Lyla settled into the car. She reasoned that Marcellus was too sophisticated to harm her—especially since she was the one at fault.

As the car rolled along, she felt awkward having Marcellus drive her. After the accident, trusting her with the wheel was likely out of the question.

Admiring his profile from the passenger seat, Lyla swallowed hard, struggling to find words that captured his allure. The man's charisma was even more striking than his looks. While good looks could spark infatuation, add charisma, and the effect was overpowering.

Lyla checked her daydreams, reminding herself that no matter how captivating the man, her priority was securing a job. At a stoplight, she cleared her throat.

"Mr. West, where are we heading?"