Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 16

**TITLE: Unwritten Feelings Drift by Austen**

**Chapter 16: Mr. Storm is a Fan**

Ayla found herself momentarily paralyzed, her heart racing in a tumultuous rhythm, as she prepared to avert her gaze. But then, something unexpected caught her eye. A delicate lily necklace peeked out from beneath Skyla’s collar, shimmering in the light like a precious gem unearthed from the depths of her memory.

In an instant, vivid recollections flooded back to her. It was on Skyla’s birthday when Ayla had stumbled into the scene, an accidental intrusion into a moment she would never forget. Max had mentioned it casually, his words slipping into the air like confetti. Troy had gone to great lengths to commission a custom lily necklace, a unique creation crafted with meticulous care, just for Skyla. He had chosen the lily because it was her favorite flower, its elegance a reflection of her own beauty.

And now, there it was, resting gracefully against Skyla’s neck at the racetrack, a tangible symbol of Troy’s affection for someone else.

Ayla’s jaw tightened involuntarily, a tsunami of emotions crashing over her as she grappled with the weight of the moment.

Troy had always been the attentive one, recalling every quirky detail and preference that made Skyla who she was. He had transformed those little nuances into thoughtful surprises that spoke volumes of his love and admiration.

The realization struck Ayla like a thunderbolt, obliterating any excitement she had felt for the race unfolding below.

From her vantage point in the VVIP box, she gazed down at the VIP section, where the atmosphere buzzed with palpable excitement.

Her eyes searched for Troy, though his face was obscured from her view. Yet, even from a distance, his body language was unmistakable. Every fiber of his being was locked into the race, his focus unwavering as he zeroed in on a single figure on the track. He was entirely absorbed, a picture of concentration, not a flicker of distraction gracing his features.

For years, Ayla had chased the echoes of Troy’s past, yearning to bridge the widening chasm that had formed between them. She craved the warmth of his embrace, the safety of those strong arms that had once pulled her from the depths of despair when she felt utterly lost.

But deep within her heart, she had long ignored a painful truth: his heart had been claimed by another long ago.

The bitterness of the past three years weighed heavily on her, and she knew she had no one to blame but herself for the heartache that lingered.

Drawing in several deep breaths, Ayla attempted to quell the ache in her chest, but it stubbornly persisted, a relentless reminder of her unfulfilled desires.

With her heart burdened and her spirit dampened, she turned away from the race, retreating back into the room. Her eyes flicked toward the entertainment setup, and she began to fiddle with the games, seeking solace in distraction. As she fumbled with the controls, she quickly found her rhythm, and soon enough, she appeared as if she had been playing for ages.

Halle, ever perceptive, noticed Ayla’s return to the room. She could sense the storm brewing within her friend, the weight of unspoken thoughts heavy in the air. After exchanging a brief word with Will, Halle followed Ayla inside, her concern palpable.

She stepped closer, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper, “I know it might not be the most uplifting thing to say, but honestly—if you were out there racing, you’d outshine Skyla a thousand times over.”

Ayla turned to her, momentarily taken aback, her silence stretching between them like a taut string.

Finally, she managed to mutter, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Feeling any better now?” Halle teased, her tone lightening the atmosphere.

Ayla had never considered the idea of boosting her confidence through comparisons, yet she couldn’t deny that Halle’s words soothed some of the sting of her disappointment.

Just as she opened her mouth to respond, Conrad strolled in, flanked by Draven.

Ayla had learned from Will that Conrad was the host for the day’s event, having personally invited Draven to join in the festivities.

The two men stood in stark contrast, nearly thirty years apart in age, yet Conrad spoke to Draven with an air of courtesy and respect that hinted at Draven’s significant influence.

“Mr. Storm,” Conrad inquired politely, “did any racer catch your eye today?”

Ayla and Halle quietly shifted to the side, their curiosity piqued like moths drawn to a flame.

Draven lifted a glass of champagne from the table, his movements fluid and confident.

Conrad quickly raised his own glass to clink against Draven’s, a gesture of camaraderie that felt almost ceremonial.

Draven took a small sip before responding in his typically flat tone, “Not really.”

“I heard you were once interested in racing, Mr. Storm,” Conrad continued, his smile wide and inviting. “My son is quite into it as well, so I’ve learned a lot about different events. It’s thrilling stuff. Do you have a favorite driver? If so, I’d love to invite you back for their next race.”

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