'I Do' For Revenge-Chapter 218: Upon My Passing
~LAYLA~
"Axel," I breathed.
Leo’s hand dropped immediately from my waist. He stepped back, and his expression shifted from playful to carefully neutral, though I could still see the amusement in his eyes.
"Mr. O’Brien, I presume?" Leo said smoothly, extending his hand to Axel. "Prince Leopold. I was just keeping your wife company. She was telling me about the beauty industry."
Axel ignored the hand; he didn’t even look at it. Instead, he walked straight to me with a tight jaw and a tensed shoulder that made the air around us feel thin.
He came to a stop just a few inches away, keeping his eyes locked on mine.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, scanning my face as if searching for cracks.
"I’m fine," I replied. My heart was racing, not from fear, but from the sheer force of his unexpected presence. "You came. I thought you said you..."
"I couldn’t leave you alone in a gathering of wolves now, can I?" Axel asked.
He finally turned his gaze to Leo, and it wasn’t a friendly look. It was the look a wolf gives a stray dog that has wandered too close to its den.
"Thank you for the dance, Your Highness," Axel said flatly. "I’ll take it from here."
Leo chuckled softly, clearly unbothered by the aggression. He gave a slight bow. "Of course. Mrs. O’Brien, it was a great pleasure. I would have said I look forward to another, but..." he trailed off. "Mr. O’Brien... you’re a lucky man. Try not to leave her alone next time. Wolves like to hunt in empty clearings."
With a final wink at me, the Prince walked backwards and then disappeared into the crowd.
Axel didn’t watch him go.
He stepped into my space, sliding his hand around my waist to the small of my back. His fingers made contact with my bare skin where the dress dipped low, and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot up my spine.
His grip was firm and possessive, but still gentle.
"Did I just watch a Prince flirt with my wife?" he asked in a low and dangerous voice that vibrated against my ear.
"He was being polite," I said, smiling up at him, enjoying the fire in his eyes.
"Polite," Axel repeated with a scoff. "Is that what we’re calling it here? He was looking at you like you were the only meal he’d seen in a week."
"Is that jealousy I sense, Mr. O’Brien?"
"Fury," Axel admitted without hesitation. His thumb traced the curve of my spine, sending shivers through me. "I leave you alone for twenty-four hours, and you’re already causing international incidents."
"I can’t help it if I’m popular."
"You’re trouble, Layla," he growled softly, his eyes darkening as they swept over the emerald gown. "And this dress... Jesus. If we weren’t in a room full of aristocrats, I’d drag you out of here and rip it off you."
"I know," I whispered, stepping closer until our chests brushed. "I wore it for you. I was planning on taking a few pictures later and sending them so you could have something to stare at."
Axel’s restraint snapped. "Then let’s give them something to really stare at."
He didn’t wait for permission. He tangled his hand in my hair, tilted my head back, and kissed me.
It wasn’t a polite, social kiss. It was deep, hungry, and claiming. It was a stamp of ownership. He kissed me like he had been starving for me, and I melted into him, clutching the lapels of his tuxedo.
Around us, the room went dead silent. The polite murmurs vanished. I could practically hear a gasp or two from somewhere in the room.
When Axel finally pulled back, he didn’t let go. He kept his arm around me, turning us to face the room. He looked at the crowd with a challenge in his eyes, daring anyone to say a word.
"Show’s over," he murmured to me. "Now, where’s the Duke?"
"Right there," I said, still breathless.
At the front of the room, Pennyworth was tapping a crystal glass with a silver spoon. The sharp ding, ding, ding cut through the tension.
The Duke was sitting in his wheelchair at the centre of the dais. He held a microphone, looking frail but determined.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Duke’s voice rasped over the speakers. "Thank you for coming. It has been an entertaining evening."
He paused, his eyes finding mine in the crowd. He smiled.
"There has been much speculation about the future of the Huntington Estate," the Duke continued. "Rumours. Gossip."
He turned to Julian and Isabelle, who were standing stiffly to his left. Isabelle looked hopeful; Julian looked nauseous.
"I am an old man," the Duke said. "And I have made my decision. I am bypassing the traditional entailment."
A gasp rippled through the room.
"Upon my passing," the Duke declared, "the title, the Blackwood estate, and the entirety of the Huntington Trust will pass directly to my granddaughter, Layla O’Brien."
Flashbulbs exploded, and the room erupted into whispers.
Isabelle stumbled back as if slapped. Julian dropped his champagne glass. It shattered on the floor, but no one noticed the sound over the chaos.
"Furthermore," the Duke shouted over the noise, enjoying the drama, "my daughter Isabelle and my grandson Julian will receive a monthly stipend to maintain their lifestyle. Contingent, of course, on the approval of the Duchess."
He pointed a shaking finger at me. "Layla. Come here."
Axel squeezed my hand. "Go get your crown, Duchess."
I walked up the dais with my head high, the emerald dress flowing behind me like a royal train. I took the Duke’s hand. He raised our joined hands in the air.
"To the future!" the Duke yelled.
"To the future!" the crowd echoed, because they were sheep, and they followed the money.
I looked at Isabelle, who was staring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
I looked down at the Duke, beaming. "Thank you, Grandfather, not for this, but for finding me."
The Duke looked up at me.
His blue eyes were shining with mischief, but then, suddenly, they clouded over. His grip on my hand tightened for a moment, then went completely slack.
The microphone slipped from his other hand, hitting the floor with a deafening screech of feedback.
"Grandfather?" I said, my voice trembling.
His head lolled back against the wheelchair, his face turning an ashen grey.
"Grandfather!" I screamed, dropping to my knees beside him.
The room erupted into chaos. Pennyworth rushed forward. Isabelle too.
"Get a medic!" Axel shouted, rushing forward to the stage.
But as I held the Duke’s hand, I felt the terrifying stillness of it. Is he...?
