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?"

Turning his head to look at Lyla Hunt, Marcellus West was now sure he wasn't imagining it. The person before him truly resembled his long-lost love, so much so that it was uncanny. His thin lips parted slightly as he issued a clear, straightforward command.

"Let's go to the office."

Lyla blinked in surprise and excitement. "Are we going to West Enterprises?"

"Yes," he answered.

This was it—her job was secured! Lyla struggled to remain composed. "What position do you have in mind for me, Mr. West?"

Marcellus allowed a hint of a smile to touch his lips. "I happen to need a secretary."

Marcellus's deep gaze lingered on Lyla's face. The resemblance wasn't just striking; she looked exactly like the woman who haunted his dreams for years. It was bizarre, and keeping her close seemed the best way to uncover the truth.

Sitting poised, Lyla spoke with confidence. "Mr. West, you have a keen eye. I'm perfect for the role of executive secretary. I'm charming, hardworking, and always follow instructions to the letter."

Restarting the car, Marcellus asked casually, "What's your name?"

Lyla paused, caught off guard. Did he really not know? It seemed Marcellus West hadn't paid much attention to his rival, Westley Grant. They say you should know your enemy.

With a smile, though her heart was pounding, Lyla introduced herself, "Mr. West, I'm Lyla Hunt. Lyla like the breeze—gentle yet undeniable."

There was no immediate reply. Marcellus appeared focused on driving, though internally, he was far from calm. She looked exactly like his lost love.

The car eventually came to a stop at West Enterprises. Meeting Marcellus's deep, dark eyes, Lyla's heart skipped a beat. Had he realized she was Westley Grant's wife and decided to back out?

Her eyes shone with urgency. "Mr. West, I finalized my divorce with Westley Grant yesterday. We're no longer connected."

"I need this job desperately," she pleaded. "If you give me this chance, I promise I'll excel."

"In the whole city, you're the only one willing to hire me."

Marcellus frowned slightly at her words. Seeing his furrowed brow, Lyla felt even more anxious. She had to seize this opportunity to become Marcellus West's secretary, no matter what.

Rummaging through her bag in a rush, she handed Marcellus her divorce papers. He examined them closely and, without returning them, asked in a serious tone, "How long were you married?"

Lyla hesitated, then replied, "Two years."

"And why did you divorce?"

Without hesitation, Lyla covered her side where her kidney was. "Westley wanted me to donate a kidney to his beloved, and I refused. That's when I saw his true colors and decided to leave."

Hearing her words, Marcellus's hand clenched into a fist as emotions surged within him.

Lyla felt a sudden chill, and she swore earnestly, "Mr. West, I promise I won't reconcile with Westley or betray you."

After what seemed like an eternity, Marcellus nodded slightly, his voice cool. "Come upstairs to finalize your employment."

Lyla was momentarily stunned but quickly nodded. "Thank you, Mr. West."

In her eagerness, she forgot about her aching knee and hurried along. Their entry procedures concluded smoothly, and Marcellus handed her a tube of ointment.

"Thank you, Mr. West."

"You should take some time to heal before starting work," Marcellus advised, but Lyla hastily shook her head, waving her hands.

"No need, Mr. West. I'll start tomorrow."

He didn't insist, merely giving her a thoughtful look. "Very well. Ezra, please show... Ms. Hunt out."

Marcellus almost slipped into calling her by his lost love's name. Ezra Simpson appeared just in time to inform Lyla that her bicycle had been repaired and was ready for use.

In high spirits, Lyla left West Enterprises, riding her bicycle more carefully this time. As she was enjoying the ride, her phone rang—it was an unknown number.

"Hello, who's calling?"

"Ms. Hunt, could you come to the hospital? Edgar's medical fees have been stopped."

It took a moment for Lyla to find her voice. "I'll be right there."

Edgar Hunt, her twin brother, had been in a coma since a car accident three years ago, and their father had been covering his medical expenses. At the hospital, Lyla quickly learned that Edgar's medical account was now empty. Without additional funds, the hospital would cease treatment, and Edgar could slip from temporary unconsciousness into a permanent coma.

Pouring all the money she had into Edgar's account, Lyla realized her financial situation was dire. Without the supplementary card from Westley, her savings amounted to less than a thousand dollars.

At that moment, Lyla regretted focusing on her relationship rather than her career. But it didn't matter now—she had secured a new job.

Standing before her family's mansion, she rang the bell and waited. When a servant finally opened the door, she hurried to the living room, where she found her father, stepmother, and stepsister.

Without preamble, she demanded of her father, "Why did you stop funding Edgar's medical care?"

Instead of answering, her father scrutinized her with displeasure. "Did you really divorce Westley?"

Gulping nervously, Lyla straightened her back at the recollection of Westley's kidney demand. "Yes, I did. He wanted me to donate a kidney to his beloved, and that's unacceptable."

Lyla confidently believed her father would support her decision, given his past kindness. But his cold, piercing gaze indicated otherwise.

"Compared to your brother's medical needs and our family business, a single kidney means nothing."

Lyla was prepared for disappointment, but hearing those words still stunned her.

"Don't blame your father," her stepmother, Khalani, chimed in soothingly. "Since your divorce, all our deals with Grant Enterprises have been terminated."

Recovering her composure, Lyla realized why Westley had been so arrogant at the registry. He'd predicted she'd come crawling back.

"You want Edgar to continue treatment? Reconcile with Westley," her father stated bluntly.

Lyla reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "I'll never go back to him."

Her father snapped back, "Then I won't pay another cent for your brother's care."

Khalani quickly interjected, "Darling, don't be hasty. If Lyla won't reconcile with Westley, we still have Anastasia."

"Mrs. West adores Anastasia. She'll soon marry Marcellus West. As his wife, our business will thrive through partnership with West Enterprises."

Lyla watched her father's demeanor melt into delight as he clasped Anastasia's hand. "Anastasia, once you marry Marcellus, I'll transfer shares of the company to you."

Eyes wide, Lyla grabbed her father's arm. "Dad, are you crazy? Edgar and I are your real children; she has no blood ties to you."

Khalani had brought Anastasia into the family, and she was a year older than Lyla.

Her father's disdainful look was that of seeing a useless rag, while Khalani and Anastasia appeared serene and content.

Then, Lyla heard her father's voice cutting through her thoughts. "Since you won't remarry Westley, there's something you should know. Anastasia is my biological daughter."

"You..."

Lyla staggered back, collapsing onto the floor.

Khalani gazed down at her, her voice velvety. "Now you understand. It was your mother who tore us apart, so she was the other woman."