Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 13

**TITLE: Unwritten Feelings Drift by Austen**
**Chapter 13: Bria’s Idol**

Troy was in attendance, and as if drawn by an invisible thread, Bria trailed behind him. It was a well-known fact that wherever he ventured, she would be there, a constant companion, like a shadow that refused to fade into the background.

Bria was a far cry from the demure, sheltered heiress her family envisioned. Adventure beckoned to her like a siren, and she thrived on the exhilarating rush that danger offered. Years ago, racing had ignited a fire within her, a passion her family quickly tried to extinguish, deeming it far too risky for their precious daughter. Undeterred, Bria channeled her fervor into amassing a collection of high-end sports cars, each one a symbol of her defiance and spirit.

In fact, she had once orchestrated a private car show, a grand spectacle that drew the affluent youth of Trensea to witness her prized collection. The event was nothing short of dazzling, a celebration of her rebellious nature that had everyone buzzing with excitement.

Yet, none of that glitz and glamour had anything to do with Ayla.

As Bria approached the sink, she caught sight of Ayla, who was engrossed in washing her hands, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

The unexpected encounter with Ayla caught Bria off guard; she hadn’t anticipated being dismissed so easily.

A flicker of surprise crossed Bria’s features, but anger was not what she felt. Instead, she stepped up to the sink beside Ayla, deliberately twisting the tap to let the water cascade forth as she began to wash her own hands. With an air of casual confidence, she posed a question, “Skyla’s racing competition is just around the corner. What are your thoughts on that?”

Her tone was deceptively light, yet beneath the surface, she relished the discomfort she was attempting to sow in Ayla.

Bria found a twisted pleasure in provoking others, particularly Ayla.

To her dismay, Ayla didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she shot back with a pointed question, “You really admire Skyla, don’t you?”

Bria regarded her with a look of sheer disbelief, as if Ayla had just uttered the most absurd question imaginable. “Of course I admire her. Do you honestly think I’d ever have any affection for you?”

Ayla fell silent, retreating into her own thoughts, her expression unreadable.

Undeterred, Bria pressed on, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Come on, Ayla—what is there about you that could possibly be worth liking? If you can name just one thing, I might reconsider and say something nice about you.”

Her words were like daggers, sharp and piercing, yet her tone maintained a veneer of lightheartedness, almost playful.

Bria wasn’t as cruel as Troy, but every word she uttered carried a distinct sting that was uniquely her own.

It was no wonder they shared the same bloodline.

Ayla remained mute, struggling to find the words to respond.

Bria’s frown deepened. Ayla’s lack of reaction was not what she had anticipated. There was no drama, no thrill to be found. But curiosity gnawed at her. “You must be curious about why Skyla got into racing, right?”

Ayla nearly retorted that she didn’t care, but Bria had already anticipated her response.

“Skyla witnessed Sol race once, and that was it—she was hooked. Now she’s practically a pro, though she’ll never reach Sol’s level. No one in this world could ever eclipse my idol.”

Ayla froze for a moment, her eyes betraying an unexpected flicker of interest.

“Because of Sol?”

Bria didn’t notice the shift in Ayla’s demeanor. Instead, she drifted into her own memories, her eyes sparkling with a mix of obsession and longing. “It feels like ages since I last saw Sol. I’m her biggest fan, you know. I almost had the chance to meet her once, and I was so close to getting her autograph. But you wouldn’t understand that kind of passion, would you?”

She shot a disdainful glance at Ayla, her expression twisted in contempt. “And that’s exactly why I can’t stand you. Discussing my passions with you is utterly pointless. You wouldn’t grasp a single thing.”

Ayla remained silent once more, her lips pressed tightly together, a fortress of unspoken words.

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