'I Do' For Revenge-Chapter 253: Special Guest

~LAYLA~

"Hold still," Helena said, zipping up the back of my dress. "You’re fidgeting."

"Sorry." I forced myself to stop moving, even though my stomach was doing somersaults that had nothing to do with nerves.

We’d flown into London early that morning, checking into a hotel suite where I could get ready away from prying eyes. The black dress Helena had chosen was elegant and sophisticated, with a slightly forgiving waistline that I was grateful for.

"There." Helena stepped back, examining me. "You look beautiful."

"I look pale," I corrected, catching my reflection in the mirror.

"You look like someone attending a memorial service," Helena said diplomatically. "Which is exactly the point."

A wave of nausea hit me suddenly. I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I need a minute."

I rushed to the bathroom, barely making it before my stomach rebelled. When it was over, I leaned against the sink, splashing cold water on my face. This was going to be a long day.

"You okay in there?" Helena called.

"Fine," I lied, dabbing my face with a towel. "Just nervous."

When I emerged, Helena was holding out my heels. "The car will be here in ten minutes. Are you sure you’re up for this?"

"I have to be." I took the shoes, slipping them on. "My grandfather is counting on me."

"Layla..."

"I’m fine, Helena. Really." I checked my reflection one more time, smoothing down the dress. "Let’s go."

The car ride to the venue was suffocating.

I was in the back seat between Axel and the Duke. The tension was so thick it was hard to breathe. Tye and Helena were in the car behind us, probably having a much more comfortable time.

Axel kept glancing at me with concern all over his face. I kept my eyes fixed on the window, watching the city pass by in a blur of grey buildings and grey sky.

"At least you two aren’t arguing," the Duke said suddenly, breaking the silence. "That’s progress, isn’t it?"

I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "Is it?"

"Well, it’s not fighting," the Duke pointed out. "That’s something."

"Silence isn’t necessarily better than arguing," Axel said quietly.

I felt his eyes on me, but didn’t turn. Couldn’t.

"Perhaps not," the Duke agreed. "But today isn’t about either of you. Today is about exposing a cheat and reclaiming my life. So whatever is happening between you two, put it aside for the next few hours. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I murmured.

"Understood," Axel echoed.

The car pulled up to the back entrance of the grand hotel ballroom. Even from here, I could see the cameras, the reporters, and the endless sea of high society dressed in black, all gathered to mourn a man who wasn’t dead.

Prince Leopold was waiting for us, impeccably dressed in a dark suit. "Your Grace," he said, bowing slightly to the Duke. "Are you ready for this? The performance of a lifetime."

"I’ve been ready since I found out who I claimed to be my daughter really is," the Duke said firmly, tightening his grip on his cane.

"Excellent." Leopold turned to Axel and me. "You two will enter through the main entrance with the other guests. You need to be seen, to be part of the mourning crowd. The Duke will wait here until I give the signal."

"And then?" I asked.

"And then I make my grand entrance," the Duke finished. "Trust me, my dear. This will work."

Leopold led Axel and me through a side corridor. "Ready?" he asked quietly.

"Ready," Axel said, offering me his arm.

I hesitated for just a moment before taking it. His muscles tensed under my touch, and I felt that familiar electricity that always passed between us. Even now, even angry and hurt, my body still responded to him.

We entered the ballroom, and I had to suppress a gasp.

Hundreds of people filled the space, all dressed in elegant black. Classical music played softly in the background. Enormous photographs of the Duke hung on the walls, surrounded by white lilies and roses. It was beautiful and grotesque all at once... a celebration of a death that never happened.

"This way," Leopold murmured, guiding us to our seats near the front.

As we walked, I felt dozens of eyes on us. Whispers followed in our wake. "That’s Layla O’Brien." "Charles Watson’s daughter." "Did you hear about Charles? Shot dead." "Terrible business."

We sat down, Axel’s hand briefly touching the small of my back before he took his seat beside me. Another wave of nausea hit me, and I gripped the edge of my chair, trying to breathe through it.

"Are you alright?" Axel whispered, leaning close.

"I’m fine," I said through gritted teeth.

"You don’t look fine..."

"I said I’m fine, Axel."

He fell silent, but I could still feel how worried he was.

The lights went down, the music got louder, and then Isabelle appeared.

She looked every inch the grieving daughter in her elaborate black dress and veil, diamonds glittering at her throat and ears. As she walked to the podium, she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

"Thank you all for coming," she began in a slightly trembling voice. "It means so much to me, to Julian, to know that my father was so loved."

I glanced across the room and spotted Julian sitting near the back.

"My father was a great man," Isabelle continued, fake tears streaming down her face. "A devoted father who taught me everything I know about business, about leadership, and about family. He was my rock, my inspiration. And now..."

She paused for dramatic effect, pressing the handkerchief to her mouth.

"Now he’s gone, taken from us too soon. But his legacy lives on. Through me, through everything he built. I promise you all that I will honour his memory every single day for the rest of my life."

My stomach turned, and this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness. The lies, the manipulation, the audacity of standing up there pretending to mourn a man she tried to murder.

Axel’s hand found mine under the armrest, squeezing gently, and I allowed him to.

Isabelle droned on about the Duke’s accomplishments, his kindness, and his generosity.

Finally, she finished. "And now, I believe Prince Leopold has arranged for a special guest to pay respects."

She stepped away from the podium, already dabbing at her eyes again. Prince Leopold stood, walking to the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice carrying through the ballroom. "Thank you for joining us today to honour the memory of Duke Silas Hunington. However, I must confess that we have a rather... unexpected development."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"A special guest has arrived," Leopold continued with a hint of amusement in his tone. "One who was very eager to attend this memorial."

The ballroom doors opened, and silence fell.

The Duke stepped through the doorway, very much alive, leaning on his cane. He moved slowly, giving everyone time to register what they were seeing.

Someone gasped and a champagne glass shattered on the marble floor.

Phones came out everywhere, cameras flashed, and social media began exploding in real-time.

The Duke walked down the centre aisle, staring at Isabelle, who was frozen at the podium. Her face had turned from pale to white, then to a sick-looking grey, and her mouth kept opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Reports of my death," the Duke said as he reached the podium, "have been greatly exaggerated."

The ballroom erupted; people stood, shouted, and demanded explanations. Reporters were trying to push forward, while security scrambled to maintain order.

But the Duke only had eyes for Isabelle.

He stopped directly in front of her, and I saw real fear flash across her face for the first time.

"Hello, my dear daughter," the Duke’s voice cut through the chaos. "Surprised to see me?"