Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 23

**TITLE: Unwritten Feelings Drift by Austen 23**
**CONTENT: Chapter 23 In the Middle of the Night**

“Troy, Ayla really isn’t good enough for you!”

Ayla had already completed her nighttime routine and slipped beneath the covers, her eyelids heavy with fatigue. Yet, despite her efforts to drift off into slumber, sleep eluded her.

The door that separated the study from her bedroom was thin, hardly a barrier to the heated conversation spilling through.

Bria’s harsh words pierced the stillness of the night, each syllable ringing in Ayla’s ears like a bell tolling ominously.

She absorbed every bitter remark, trying to steel herself against the sting of their implications—until Troy finally responded.

“I know.”

Bria pressed her advantage, her voice dripping with disdain. “If you think she’s not good enough, then I hope I’ll have a new sister-in-law soon.”

“Mmm.” Troy’s reply was icy, devoid of warmth. “Drive safe on your way home.”

“Okay.”

With that, Bria departed, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

Ayla, feeling the weight of her emotions, pulled the blanket over her head, a feeble shield against the tears that threatened to spill over.

Time slipped away from her as she lay there, cocooned in her thoughts, until she felt the mattress shift beside her.

Half-asleep, she stirred, blinking her heavy eyelids open. Troy had joined her, phone in hand, engrossed in a flurry of messages. Suddenly, a voice message chimed through the device.

He pressed it to his ear, and in the quiet of the night, Ayla caught the soft sound filtering through the speaker.

Her heart sank as she recognized the voice instantly—it was Skyla.

Turning onto her side, she feigned a restless shift in her sleep, glancing at the clock that read two in the morning.

She quietly closed her eyes, trying to will away the chill that had settled into her bones while waiting for the car earlier that evening. Her head felt heavy, a dull ache pulsating in her temples; all she craved was the bliss of deep sleep.

But mere moments later, a rush of frigid air swept over her.

Troy had yanked the blanket away, his voice sharp and commanding. “Get up.”

Dazed and disoriented, Ayla sat up, her mind racing. Troy was already pulling on a jacket, moving with a sense of urgency that sent a jolt of alarm through her.

“What’s wrong?” she managed to ask, her voice thick with sleep.

“I have to go.” He offered no further explanation. “If I leave you here, Grandpa will ask questions in the morning. If you come with me, I’ll handle it with an easy explanation.”

Her head spun with confusion and fatigue. She felt feverish, and the thought of venturing out into the night filled her with dread. “I can explain to Martin.”

That might have sufficed, but Troy knew Draven was still there, lurking in the shadows of their lives.

If he abandoned Ayla, she would inevitably find herself at breakfast with Draven and Grandpa—a scenario that made Troy’s stomach churn.

Even though he often seemed indifferent to Ayla, the very idea of that scene was unbearable.

“Even if you explain, Grandpa will still call me. I don’t want the trouble,” he said, his brows knitting tighter, his voice growing colder. “Hurry. Don’t make me wait.”

Why was he so insistent on making her get out now?

Troy’s tone was flat, devoid of any compassion. “Waste of time.”

“Then at least take me into the city,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation. She wasn’t asking for much—just a reprieve from the oppressive darkness that loomed outside.

“Wrong direction.” His patience had evaporated. “Out.”

In that moment, she saw it—the stark cruelty in his eyes, the rigidity of his demeanor.

Earlier that evening, he had arrived late at the base of the mountain, but when it came to Skyla, not a second would be wasted.

He had been worried about leaving Ayla alone, fearing Martin’s reprimands, but now he seemed utterly unconcerned.

Ayla had long since learned not to expect warmth from him, but this felt like a knife to her heart.

Even a decent friend wouldn’t abandon someone in the dead of night.

In the early days of their marriage, she had been afraid of him. Three years together had dulled that fear, but now, confronted by the warning in his eyes, that old terror began to resurface.

Troy was usually cold, but he had been raised to maintain a facade of refinement, to appear proper. Yet, a chilling thought struck her: if she resisted, he might unleash his fury for Skyla’s sake. She couldn’t fathom how far that anger could go.

She couldn’t imitate Bria, pouting and acting cute. What if she refused to get out? What then?

That would only lead to humiliation, perhaps something worse.

Her jaw clenched, aching from the effort of holding back tears. Gripping the handle, she pushed the door open and stepped into the biting cold of the night.