Chapter 37
I Hate You So Much

Mrs. Etman stood still for a moment, studying Layla, before slowly approaching and taking the seat across from her. Her posture was perfectly straight as she set her hat down on the chair beside her. Though Layla had seen her countless times, something about her suddenly felt unfamiliar, and Layla tensed without realizing it.

“You must be coming from the police. What did they say?”

Thankfully, Mrs. Etman was the one to break the silence first.

“They haven’t found any real leads yet. But since it isn’t over, I don’t want to give up.”

“Well, Layla. I don’t think that’s the wisest choice.”

“…What?”

Just then, the tea they had ordered arrived. The waiter set the cups down roughly before leaving, and in that short space of silence between them, the air grew heavy. It was Layla who finally spoke.

“May I ask what you mean by that?”

“I have the money.”

Mrs. Etman spoke clearly, eyes on the steaming cup before her. The words were so plain that there was no mistaking them, yet Layla sat stunned, as if she had misheard.

“I’m the one who took your tuition.”

Lifting her gaze, Mrs. Etman repeated firmly.

“That’s impossible. How could you…”

Layla tried to laugh, but her lips wouldn’t move as she wanted. A cruel joke? But Mrs. Etman’s face was motionless, her eyes fixed coldly on Layla.

“I hid it. Knowing it was wrong, I still did it—because I wanted to keep you from going to university with Kyle.”

“That… that can’t be…”

“It was theft. Pathetic, cruel theft. And I still did it. Because I wanted you away from my son.”

Layla’s mind went blank, but she could no longer deny the truth. Mrs. Etman was telling her plainly—and it was terrifyingly clear.

“Layla, I hate you. I hate you so very much.”

Her gray eyes brimmed with exhaustion and disgust as they fixed on Layla.

“I would rather make myself into this wretched creature than accept you as Kyle’s bride. That’s how much I hate you.”

“M-Mrs. Etman…”

“I thought you were a decent child, someone who knew her place. Never did I imagine you’d be so shameless as to use Kyle for your own gain.”

“Use him? No. That’s not true. I would never—I couldn’t—No!”

Layla shook her head frantically. Her hands, gripping the edge of the table, trembled along with her entire body, but she had no space left in her mind to notice.

“Isn’t that why you stayed by his side? To use him? To get into university, to become his wife, to change your pitiful little life?”

Knowing it was unfair made Mrs. Etman all the more vicious.

She knew. Layla’s feelings for Kyle had never strayed beyond affection—at most, friendship. It had always been Kyle who yearned. If not for that foolish boy, Layla would never have dared such dreams. That truth had long wounded her pride, and now it only made Layla more loathsome.

“My hatred for you turned me into a thief, Layla. I hate you enough to stoop to this. That will never change. How could people like us ever become family?”

“What… what is it you’re trying to tell me?”

Her voice shook now, but Layla did not look away.

“You already know. You’re a clever child.”

Mrs. Etman’s gaze was glacial, cold as the untouched teacup before her.

“If you want, go ahead and tell. Tell Kyle. Tell the whole world that I stooped to theft to stop your marriage.”

You won’t. I know you won’t. And because she knew, she spoke with such certainty.

“If you tell Kyle, he’ll be devastated. Our bond will shatter, and perhaps even our family will fall apart.”

Her face grew sharper, colder, as she watched Layla frozen in place.

“But whether you hide it or tell him, the outcome won’t change. You and Kyle will not marry. That’s all I need.”

“Am I… am I so hateful to you that you would go this far?”

“I already said it, Layla. I hate you.”

Leaving her words behind, Mrs. Etman rose to her feet.

“Yes. Enough to make such a ruthless choice, enough to throw away even my dignity in front of you. That’s how much I hate you.”

Her gaze, stripped of restraint, cut like frost.

“I’ll return the money after the registration deadline passes.”

So stop stirring things up, and make Kyle give up quietly.

The words she most wanted to say, she swallowed instead. Layla had understood well enough.

“Today, I resent Mr. Remmer.”

She let out a sigh, eyes dropping.

“For keeping you here in Arvis. For allowing this tragedy to happen.”

The last blow was the worst. Layla’s eyes, glassy as frozen panes, told her so.

And so Mrs. Etman left the tearoom, leaving behind a girl who still would not cry. Relief and shame mingled within her like shadows clinging to her heels.

He saw her.

On the roadside, under the broad plane trees leading back to the estate, Layla sat crouched, making herself small.

Gazing idly out the window, Matthias recognized her at once—even from behind, there was no mistaking her.

“That girl under the tree—looks like Remmer’s Layla, doesn’t it?”

The driver had noticed too, speaking cautiously.

“Is she unwell?”

Mark Evers, riding with them, added anxiously. As the car drew closer, Layla staggered to her feet, trying to stand straight. She bowed her head so deeply that her face was hidden, but it was obvious she wasn’t well.

The attendant kept glancing out, then turned toward the back seat. His eyes were full of silent pleading—should they stop, should they help her? Even the driver slowed the car in hesitation.

Matthias let his gaze drift over the scene. Layla stood rigid beneath the tree, head bowed stubbornly low.

She was crying.

He knew instantly, without doubt. Who else in the world knew Layla Llewellyn’s tears better than he?

And so he gave his answer simply—by turning his eyes away.

The attendant, reading his master’s silence, said no more. The driver, understanding, pressed the car back to speed.

Her tears delighted Matthias, as always—but that delight was his alone. For others to intrude on it? That was far less welcome.

They left Layla behind, crying alone on the roadside, as the car passed through the gates of the estate. By the time Matthias stepped out, he felt composed again.

Had Linda Etman made her move?

What else could drive Layla to such bitter tears? His suspicions were confirmed when Hessen approached, looking uneasy.

“My lord, I have a report.”

He lowered his voice, falling in step beside Matthias.

“It is so unbelievable that I hardly know how to speak it…”

The butler’s voice, usually unshakable, trembled faintly—and Matthias knew at once: Mrs. Etman had lived up to his expectations.

“Let’s go to the study.”

His answer was calm, smooth as silk.

“A summer cold, of all things. It’s that damned thief. She worried herself sick over it.”

Bill paced helplessly by Layla’s bedside.

She had retired early the night before, and by morning she was down with fever. She insisted it was just a cold, that rest would cure it, but to Bill it looked far worse.

“This won’t do. I’ll fetch Dr. Etman—”

“No.”

She pushed herself up with difficulty. Though the summer morning was warm, she shivered beneath thick nightclothes. Overnight she had become a patient.

“No, Uncle. Please don’t.”

“She’s sick, of course I’ll call a doctor. What, did you fight with Kyle?”

“No.”

“Even if you did, Dr. Etman—”

“Please.”

Her clammy hand clutched his sleeve.

“I just… want to rest. That’s all I need. Please.”

“Layla…”

“Then I’ll be better. I promise.”

So desperate was her plea that Bill could not refuse. Whatever had happened with Kyle, now was not the time to press.

When he nodded at last, relief softened her face. She collapsed back into bed, utterly spent.

“You should’ve eaten more, slept more, taken better care of yourself! Damn it, you worried yourself half to death!”

His voice was rough, but his hands were gentle, pulling up the covers, laying a cool cloth on her burning forehead.

“Don’t worry, girl. Even if I can’t catch the bastard, I’ll see to your tuition somehow—”

“Uncle.”

Her frail voice broke through his words.

“Let me stay. Don’t send me away.”

“You’re talking nonsense again.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle.”

“What nonsense is that now?”

“It’s my fault.”

“Say that again and I’ll be angry.”

“I’ll come back. I promise I’ll come back.”

Bill let out a quiet, long sigh as he watched her ramble, words without sense.

“Just rest, Layla. I’ll be back soon.”

He shut the window and drew the curtains, but she begged weakly for them to be opened again.

“It’s stifling… just a little.”

Even at death’s door, she wouldn’t yield. And once more, Bill gave in. He cracked the window, pulled the curtain back slightly. Only then did she close her eyes.

“If the fever isn’t gone by afternoon, I’ll fetch the doctor whether you like it or not. Understood?”

But she made no reply, already slipping into a heavy sleep.

Bill sighed again, leaving the cottage reluctantly, his steps quickening with thoughts of finishing his errands quickly and hurrying back.