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."

Lyla Hunt found it hard to accept the truth. She quickly picked herself up and tried to shove Saige Murray away. But her father was there in an instant, steadying Saige.

"My mom could never have been the other woman. You've been in cahoots to deceive her. Without my mom and my grandfather, Hunt Group wouldn't even exist today," Saige Murray was fuming, his finger shaking as he pointed at Lyla, his voice trembling with rage.

"Stop talking nonsense. Hunt Group reached its heights because of my remarkable foresight and skills," Saige quickly shifted to a placating tone, saying, "Honey, don't get upset. Lyla's just venting in anger."

Lyla stared intently at Edgar and Saige, a suspicion slowly building within her that perhaps the car accident three years ago, which killed her mother instantly and left her brother in a coma, might be tied to her father and Saige. Edgar, feeling her penetrating gaze, grew impatient and snapped, "Anyway, until you remarry Westley, I won't provide any more medical support for your brother."

Edgar had already given up on her brother's treatment if not for Lyla's persistence. It seemed ridiculous to keep hoping for a miracle recovery after three years of unconsciousness. When Lyla was married well, Edgar was willing to support her for Westley's sake. But now...

Edgar only had eyes for Anastasia Matthews, who was about to become part of the West family. Before leaving, Edgar ostentatiously handed Anastasia a credit card right in front of Lyla, urging her to buy whatever she liked.

Lyla clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging into her palms. To her father, only interests mattered, not family ties. Whichever daughter brought the most benefit, he favored.

Anastasia approached Lyla with a bright smile. "Seems like you could use some cash, huh?"

With only seven dollars left in her account, Lyla nodded as she watched Anastasia put the card away and pull out a wad of cash.

"Here, take this for now," Anastasia offered.

Instinctively, Lyla reached for the money, but before she could grab it, Anastasia let go, causing the bills to flutter down to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, Lyla knelt down to gather the bills, driven by a desperate need because pride couldn't pay her brother's medical bills. She couldn't afford to lose him after losing her mom.

As Lyla was nearly finished picking up the money, Anastasia's stiletto heel suddenly came down on Lyla's hand.

"Ah!" Lyla cried out in pain.

Annoyed, Anastasia pressed the heel harder before finally stepping back.

Suppressing her pain, Lyla collected the rest of the cash and slipped it into her bag, refusing to shed a tear.

Anastasia's voice was light and mocking. "You used to be the Mrs. Grant, with everyone jumping at your command. Who would have thought you'd fall so low as to accept my charity so quickly?"

Rising to her feet, Anastasia looked down at Lyla as if she were a beggar. "Once I marry Marcellus and become the CEO's wife of West Enterprises, I'll be sure to bless you with more of my charity, dear sister."

Lyla watched as Anastasia turned gracefully and walked away. Slowly, Lyla stood up, a faint smile forming on her lips.

Someday, the humiliations she suffered today, she'd repay tenfold.

Want to marry Marcellus and become the CEO's wife of West Enterprises? Dream on.

Her eyes sparkled with determination as she left the Hunt estate and headed to the hospital.

Anastasia had casually tossed her about a thousand dollars; Lyla kept a hundred for herself and allocated the rest to her brother's medical fund.

The Lyla who once only cared about Westley was gone. Now, she focused solely on money.

Leaving the hospital, she received a call from Norah Warren.

"Hey, darling, how's the job search today?"

Lyla sighed and recounted the events of the day to Norah.

Norah's first reaction was to transfer her entire thirty-thousand-dollar savings to Lyla, a generous gesture that warmed Lyla's heart and would never be forgotten.

"Thank you, Norah, but I can't accept your money."

Lyla knew Norah was an excellent lawyer, but she hadn't been working long, and her salary wasn't very high. Plus, Norah had a modest family background and two brothers to support.

"Why not? It's just a loan."

"When I really need it, I'll come to you. I'm heading to the Grant residence to gather my things. You focus on work and don't worry about me."

After ending the call, Lyla rode her scooter to the villa and instantly noticed something was off: a group of men in black stood by the gate.

The villa should only have been occupied by Lyla and Westley, no staff included.

Lyla approached the men. "Who are you guys?"

Ignoring her question, one of the men stated coldly, "Without Mr. Grant's permission, you can't enter."

Lyla clenched her teeth. These men in black were obviously referring to Westley Grant. She called him via WhatsApp, wanting only to retrieve her belongings—she wouldn't take a single item more than she deserved.

No answer.

Lyla seethed, convinced he was ignoring her on purpose, so she tried calling three more times until he finally picked up.

Without beating around the bush, Lyla shouted, "Westley, what's the meaning of this?"

Westley's voice was calm and gravelly. "Leaving with nothing means you don't take a thing."

With that, he hung up, not giving Lyla a chance to respond, leaving her furious enough to stamp her foot.

Eyeing the hulking men in suits, Lyla realized she couldn't force her way in, so she turned and headed straight for Grant Corporation.

She charged into Westley's office without knocking, unfazed by the others present. Her resolve was unmistakable.

"Westley, I need to talk to you alone."

Westley glanced at his watch, a slight smirk on his lips. Just as he thought, it took less than three days for Lyla to come back, seeking reconciliation.

But first, he intended to teach her a lesson she'd never forget about thinking too highly of herself.