Chapter 81: The Man Who Realized Too Late

Across the club, inside another secluded VIP section, Layton sat near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking Greendale’s skyline.

The city stretched out below him—glittering lights, endless movement, a world that never stopped. But he wasn’t looking at the view. His attention was elsewhere, fixed on something—someone—across the room.

A half-finished glass of whiskey rested on the table before him, the amber liquid catching the dim light.

Opposite him sat Draven, his posture relaxed, his expression thoughtful.

Neither of them had spoken much since Kelvin’s public humiliation. The spectacle had been entertaining—Lucy’s rage, Kelvin’s panic, the shattered glass—but their attention hadn’t been on Kelvin.

It had been on another table entirely.

On Mindy.

From where Layton sat, he could clearly see her.

She was laughing—not the polite smile she wore during business meetings, not the calm smile she showed the judges yesterday.

This was genuine. Carefree. Bright. The kind of laughter that lit up her entire face, crinkling the corners of her eyes, making her look younger, lighter, unburdened.

She was teasing Ana, her hand gesturing animatedly. Rolling her eyes at Zac, who was clearly saying something ridiculous. Occasionally laughing at Wade’s jokes, her shoulders shaking. And every now and then, Matthias quietly placed another plate in front of her—a tartlet, a few fries, a napkin when hers slipped.

She accepted it naturally, without looking, without thanking him every time. As though it had become a habit. As though they’d done this a thousand times before.

Layton’s fingers tightened around his whiskey glass, the pressure making his knuckles white.

Years. He had known Mindy for years—since she was a child, since she first came to the Knight’s estate, since she started following him around with that bright, hopeful smile.

Yet he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her laugh like that.

Draven followed his gaze, his eyes landing on Mindy’s table. "She looks happy."

Layton remained silent, his jaw tight.

Draven continued quietly, his tone thoughtful. "When we were kids, I remember she used to smile like that." He paused. "...Whenever she followed you around."

Layton lowered his eyes, his chest tightening.

Memories flashed through his mind, unbidden and sharp.

A little girl running after him through the Knight’s estate, her small legs struggling to keep up. Holding a sketchbook clutched to her chest. Calling his name over and over, her voice bright and eager.

"Layton! Look what I drew!"

Back then, he rarely stopped walking. He had always been too busy. Too indifferent. Too focused on college, on responsibilities, on things that seemed more important at the time.

Yet she never stopped smiling. Never stopped trying. Never stopped hoping he’d turn around.

Draven sighed, his voice soft. "I haven’t seen her smile like that in years." He paused, his gaze steady. "Maybe you should let her go."

Layton immediately replied, his voice flat and firm. "No."

Draven looked at him, his expression unreadable. Layton’s tone hadn’t been loud. Nor emotional. Just... firm. Absolute. Final.

The waiter refilled their drinks before quietly leaving, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet.

Draven leaned back against the sofa, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "I investigated Kelvin."

That finally drew Layton’s attention away from Mindy. His gaze sharpened. "And?"

Draven placed a brown envelope on the table, the paper worn at the edges. "I couldn’t find much. They’ve been surprisingly careful." He paused. "But I managed to retrieve these."

He slid several photographs across the table, the glossy surfaces catching the light.

Layton picked them up, his movements slow and deliberate.

The photographs were dated two years ago—just a few weeks after his accident, when he’d been bedridden, when everything had been chaos.

Inside a nightclub. Dim lighting, crowded tables, bottles of expensive liquor.

Aaron. Kelvin. Missy. Several unfamiliar women.

Missy and Aaron were sitting unusually close together, their shoulders touching, their heads bent toward each other as though sharing secrets. Kelvin stood beside them, raising his glass in a toast, his expression relaxed and familiar.

Everyone looked comfortable. Too comfortable. Like old friends. Like people who’d done this many times before.

Layton studied every picture quietly, his eyes scanning each face, each detail, each gesture.

"They know each other," he said finally, his voice low.

Draven nodded. "Through Aaron. They’ve met several times." He paused. "But I still haven’t found why."

Layton placed the photographs back inside the envelope, his movements careful. His eyes drifted toward Mindy once more, drawn like a magnet.

Just then, Lucy’s voice echoed through the club, sharp and cutting.

"Don’t touch me. It’s disgusting."

The words carried farther than anyone expected, slicing through the ambient jazz and low conversations.

Layton froze, his entire body going rigid. His pupils slowly narrowed. His grip on the whiskey glass tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"It’s..." His voice trailed off, barely audible.

Draven looked at him, his brow furrowing. "What?"

Layton spoke almost absentmindedly, his gaze distant. "Those are the exact words."

"...What?"

"Mindy." His voice was hollow. "She says the same thing."

Every single time he tried to stop her. Every single time he reached for her. Every single time she looked at him with those cold, distant eyes.

"Don’t touch me. It’s disgusting."

Draven frowned, his expression thoughtful. He remained quiet for a few moments before finally speaking, his tone careful. "Does she think you and Missy had a physical relationship?"

Layton’s head snapped toward him, his eyes sharp.

Draven continued, his voice steady. "You know, I wouldn’t blame her."

Layton slowly turned toward him, his expression caught between confusion and something darker. "What do you mean?"

Draven sighed, his tone gentle but honest. "Look at it from her perspective. You’ve always had Missy beside you. She attends every banquet with you. Every charity event. Every business dinner. Every public appearance."

Layton didn’t answer, his jaw clenching.

Draven continued, his words deliberate. "You never corrected anyone. You never created boundaries. You never once publicly introduced Mindy as your wife."

Layton’s expression slowly stiffened, his face going pale.

Draven spoke gently, his gaze steady. "If I didn’t know you, I would’ve assumed Missy was your girlfriend." He paused, letting the words sink in. "No... The whole of Greendale assumes that."

He leaned forward slightly. "So tell me—how do you think your wife felt?"

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

Layton lowered his head, his hands trembling slightly.

For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about the accusations. Or the misunderstandings. He was thinking about facts.

Every event. Every banquet. Every interview. Every photograph in the society pages.

Missy had always stood beside him. Not Mindy.

Layton continued staring at Mindy across the room.

She was laughing again, her head tilted back, her expression open and unguarded. Not because of Matthias. Not because of anyone in particular. Simply because she was... comfortable. Safe. Happy.

He quietly said, his voice barely audible, "I don’t know how to talk to her anymore."

Draven looked at him, his expression softening.

"She doesn’t even look at me." Layton’s eyes remained fixed on Mindy’s table, his gaze almost desperate. "Whatever I say, she won’t believe me."

Draven was silent for a long moment before letting out a slow sigh. "Maybe it’s for the best."

Layton frowned, his head turning sharply.

Draven continued honestly, his tone careful but firm. "You clearly don’t love her."

Layton stiffened, his entire body going rigid.

"Yes, she’s your wife. But you’ve never treated her like one." His words weren’t meant to be cruel. They were simply truthful.

"You never stood beside her publicly. You never corrected the rumors surrounding you and Missy. You always kept Mindy in the shadows."

He looked directly into Layton’s eyes, his gaze unwavering. "You might have really hurt her, man. No husband who truly loves his wife would do that."

Silence. Thick, painful silence.

Layton lowered his head, his throat tightening painfully. "...Was I..." He stopped himself, his voice coming out hoarse. "...that awful?" He paused, his voice breaking slightly. "I just wanted to protect her."

He already knew the answer.

Draven didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. The silence itself was enough.

At that moment, Mindy stood from her seat, her movements graceful. "I’ll be back."

Layla waved lazily, her tone teasing. "The washroom?"

Mindy nodded, placing her empty juice glass on the table before quietly walking toward the hallway.

Layton watched her leave, his gaze tracking her every movement.

Then, without another word, he stood.

Draven looked at him, his expression resigned. "You really aren’t giving up."

Layton only replied quietly, his voice firm. "No."

Then he followed her.

The hallway leading toward the washrooms was much quieter than the main lounge.

Soft golden lights illuminated the marble floor, casting warm shadows. The jazz music was muffled here, distant and dreamlike.

Mindy had barely taken a few steps when—

"Mindy."

His voice was gentle. Much gentler than usual. Almost pleading.

She paused, her shoulders tensing. Slowly turned.

Their eyes met. For only a second.

Then she rolled her eyes, turned around again, and continued walking.

Layton quickly closed the distance, his footsteps echoing softly. "Mindy... Please. Just wait. Listen to me."

Something in his voice made her stop again—not the words, but the tone. The desperation barely hidden beneath the surface.

She slowly turned, her expression guarded. Her eyes studied him for a brief moment, searching for something—sincerity, perhaps, or a trap.

Then she asked calmly, her tone flat, "Are you drunk, President Knight?"

Layton almost smiled bitterly. Again. President Knight. Not Layton. Not even Mr. Knight. Just President Knight—formal, distant, cold.

He shook his head. "No."

Mindy looked at him expressionlessly, her arms crossing. "What do you want?"

Layton hesitated, his throat tightening. Then quietly asked, his voice soft, "Have dinner with me."

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in her response. "Dinner with you?" She gave a short scoff, the sound sharp and dismissive. "No, thanks."

She turned to leave.

Layton immediately spoke, his voice urgent. "I have something you might want to see."

She stopped. Slowly looked back, her eyes narrowing. "What is it?"

"It’s about Kelvin and Missy."

For the first time since the conversation began, her expression changed—curiosity flickering across her face, sharp and focused.

"What is it?"

Layton didn’t answer. Instead, he asked again, his voice steady, "Have dinner with me tomorrow. I’ll show you."

She narrowed her eyes, her gaze fixed on him for several long seconds, searching for deception. "Are you playing games with me, Mr. President Knight?"

Layton immediately shook his head, his expression earnest. "No. I’m serious. You’ll want to see it."

Silence stretched between them, taut and fragile.

Mindy studied his face carefully. He didn’t look drunk. He didn’t look like he was lying. His eyes were clear, his posture steady.

Finally, she gave a small nod. "Fine."

Layton’s eyes lifted slightly, hope flickering across his face.

She continued, her tone brisk, "Virello. Tomorrow. Seven o’clock. The private dining section."

Layton nodded immediately, his voice eager. "I’ll be there."

Without another word, Mindy turned around and walked away, her heels clicking against the marble. She never looked back.

Layton remained standing in the quiet hallway, watching her disappear around the corner.

A small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face.

Not because she had forgiven him. She hadn’t.

Not because she trusted him. She clearly didn’t.

But for the first time in a very long while, she had agreed to meet him.

It was only dinner. It meant nothing.

Yet somehow, to Layton, it felt like the first door that hadn’t been completely shut.

Back inside the lounge, Draven watched Layton through the glass partition and quietly shook his head, his expression resigned.

"I just hope you haven’t realized everything too late."