Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 30

**TITLE: Unwritten Feelings Drift by Austen 30**
**CONTENT: Chapter 30 A Wound Exposed**

The driver sat firmly behind the wheel, the engine humming softly as Ayla occupied the front passenger seat, her thoughts swirling amidst the quiet hum of the car. In the back, Draven and Will shared a space filled with unspoken tension and camaraderie, their presence a comforting weight against the stillness.

After a while, as the world outside the window blurred by, Ayla became acutely aware of a sharp, biting pain in her palm. Curiosity piqued, she opened her hand, her heart sinking as she saw the skin beneath her thumb was scraped raw. The worst of the cut had already begun to scab over, yet it seemed to have split open anew, fresh blood welling up like unwelcome tears.

She had left her bag behind, not thinking she would need anything more than her usual essentials for what she assumed would be a brief delivery. Now, the thought of stopping at a drugstore to tend to her wound nagged at her mind, but the car was already in motion, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Asking everyone to pause for a small injury felt selfish.

Suddenly, Draven’s deep voice broke through her thoughts, commanding and firm. “Stop the car,” he ordered, and the vehicle came to an abrupt halt, sending a jolt through Ayla’s body. Her heart skipped a beat as she turned to find Draven’s intense gaze fixed on her. “Get out. Take care of that cut.”

She hadn’t anticipated that he would notice her discomfort. Flustered and a little embarrassed, she quickly exited the car, her pace quickening as she jogged toward the drugstore, eager to save everyone time and avoid any further fuss.

Her work phone buzzed insistently in her pocket, and she fished it out to find a message from Will. “Take your time. Your wound matters more. We’ll wait,” it read, a reminder of his kindness that warmed her heart despite the circumstances.

Ayla felt a swell of gratitude for Will’s concern, knowing it stemmed from Halle’s influence. She typed back quickly, “I’ll be quick,” before stepping into the drugstore, the cool air greeting her like a welcome friend.

Inside, the pharmacist approached her with a gentle smile, carefully cleaning her hand with practiced ease. The deeper cuts were covered with bandages, while the smaller scrapes were left open, exposed yet manageable.

“It’s not serious,” the pharmacist assured her, his voice calm and reassuring. “Just keep it dry, and it’ll heal faster.”

Ayla nodded, her mind racing as she paid and turned to leave, only to collide with Troy and Skyla just outside the door.

Troy stood there, a box of bandages and iodine swabs in hand, clearly having purchased them for Skyla. Ayla’s suspicions were confirmed—her earlier guess had been right.

Last night, Troy had rushed off at the mere sight of Skyla scraping her finger, an incident so trivial that it seemed to rattle him to his core. It struck Ayla as odd; Troy was a man who typically had others do everything for him. He rarely engaged in the mundane tasks of life, yet here he was, standing in a pharmacy, purchasing supplies with his own hands.

Seeing this firsthand, a realization washed over Ayla. To her surprise, the sting in her palm seemed to fade, overshadowed by the unexpected revelation.

Troy’s eyes flickered to her palm, then back to her face, a shadow of concern crossing his features. “You’re hurt too?” he asked, his tone laced with genuine surprise.

That one word—too—made Ayla’s lips press together tightly. Did he think she had inflicted this injury upon herself, mirroring Skyla’s pain just to garner his attention? Perhaps even to compete with her?

After the divorce, Ayla had grown weary of explaining herself for every misunderstanding Troy had. But in that moment, she felt an urge to clarify.

Taking a deep breath, she followed her instincts and spoke, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “No one wants to get hurt on purpose.”

Troy’s brows knitted together, confusion mingling with concern.

“I’ve got things to do,” she stated flatly, stepping past him and Skyla, her heart pounding as she walked away.

Skyla watched Ayla’s retreating figure, a flicker of realization dawning upon her. Ayla was neither as clever nor as considerate as her stepmother had claimed, nor was she as demure and quiet as Max had once described her. The act of playing hard to get seemed forced, almost agonizing for Ayla to maintain.

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