She didn’t cry, didn’t rage, and didn’t confront. Instead, Layla planned. In silence. With precision. She ordered elegant invitations embossed in gold, signed them with mystery, and mailed them off—one by one. The message was simple: a private reception in celebration of new beginnings. No names.
No details. Just enough to draw them in. And they came, of course. Because people like that never miss a show—especially when they think they’re the stars. But this wasn’t a wedding. This was an ending dressed in silk and defiance. As Layla stepped into the spotlight, not as a bride, but as the woman they tried to erase, she gave them exactly what they asked for—only not in the way they ever expected.