Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 2

Troy had asked for a divorce. Usually, Ayla would storm out for a while, then come crawling back, trying twice as hard to win him over.

It had never been any different.

This time, Troy expected the same.

She left so quickly today, probably because of her miscarriage.

As for the baby ...

Disgust flashed in Troy's eyes. He never thought Ayla deserved to carry his child. The pregnancy had been nothing more than an accident.

Now that the baby was gone, all the better.

The divorce came with 50 million dollars in settlement money.

The debit card and the papers were placed together.

If Ayla had signed three years ago, she could've walked away with it all without paying any price.

But she'd wasted three years chasing a dream, draining her body and soul. She'd even hurt her chances of ever becoming a mother.

So be it.

Dwelling on it only tore her apart, and there was no future in that. Life had to move forward.

And having that money was still better than walking away with nothing.

She took the card with her. It was late at night; she hailed a cab that dropped her off at the gates of Westhaven.

This was an upscale neighborhood where the lowest price per square foot started at 300,000 dollars.

Each floor had only two units, and Ayla had one under her name.

It wasn't really hers. The condo belonged to her Uncle Hugh. After her mother's accident, he moved overseas and left the place to her.

Ayla never thought she'd need it, but life didn't go as planned. Now that she was divorced, having a ready home was a blessing.

Building 7, penthouse, unit 1.

Dragging her suitcase, Ayla walked inside.

She'd already scheduled a cleaning service that afternoon, so the place was spotless. Still, with almost 3,200 square feet, it felt huge and empty.

In the past, she might have felt the loneliness of living alone in such a huge space.

But after three years of Troy's coldness, nothing scared her anymore. For the first time in years, she felt a strange calm in her chest.

Relieved yet bone-tired, she washed up quickly, lay down, and fell asleep at once.

Ding!

At six in the morning, a familiar alarm blared. Its label read, "Time to make breakfast for my husband."

Ayla's eyes snapped open.

Troy always ate breakfast at eight, but he was picky. A simple meal wouldn't do, so cooking often took her one or two hours.

If he came home late from a party, Ayla would still stay up to take care of him; sometimes she would go to bed around two or three in the morning, then wake up early to cook for him.

Sometimes she made an entire spread, only for Troy to ignore it, leaving all that food for the trash.

But things were different now; she didn't have to wake up early anymore.

She didn't have to worry about her hard work going to waste.

Ayla deleted the alarm, pulled on an eye mask, and lay back down.

She worried that she might not be able to fall asleep.

But within minutes, she drifted off.

At eight in the morning, Troy opened his eyes with a pounding headache.

He always got headaches if he drank too much and forgot to take something before bed. Last night he'd been exhausted and skipped his lemon tea.

Now, he was paying for it.

Still, a glass of warm milk sat on the nightstand.

Troy gave a faint, knowing smile.

She left so firmly last night, and yet she came back, didn't she?

He drank the warm milk. The ache in his head eased a little. Then he picked up his phone and texted Max, "I won the bet."

Max replied, annoyed but impressed. "Ayla just can't stand her ground, huh? She's spoiled you so much that she doesn't even know where the line is anymore."

He howled. "Man, I hate losing. This is killing me."

Then he added, "Come on, man, do me a favor. Find me a woman who loves me to the moon like her. I'm begging you. Just let me have a taste of your good fortune for once."

Troy smirked and typed back, "Cut it out! You're gross!"

He tossed his phone aside and went to wash up.

When he came downstairs, the house was quiet. No familiar figure bustled in the kitchen.

"Where is she?" He called coldly.

Laura Cook stepped out of the kitchen with a tray.

"Good morning, Mr. Winston. Breakfast is ready."

Troy frowned. "You're the one making breakfast?"

"Yes, me," she answered with a small smile.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify