Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 89

Ayla wasn't naïve—she was far too smart for that.

And Blake could see it; she genuinely believed Ayla would land on her feet.

She didn't push Ayla any further and instead moved to the far end of the bench, drinking water and resting quietly.

Ayla stayed silent for several seconds.

When Blake had asked whether she wanted to retaliate against Troy, Ayla's gaze had drifted toward Draven.

Blake noticed.

Ayla guessed what Blake was thinking—if she were in Ayla's position, she'd probably make a move. Find someone powerful—someone like Draven—and use him to strike back at Troy.

No wonder Blake had climbed her way into Storm Group's upper management.

When she wanted something, she took it.

People, resources, opportunities—everything existed to be used.

Ayla had never thought this way before. But Blake's question cracked open a door in her mind.

She sat on the bench, watching Draven quietly.

Her gaze was calm yet sharp, like a predator assessing prey.

Draven was one month older than Troy, both men tall and devastatingly handsome. But where Troy was cold and indifferent, Draven was darker—brooding, dangerous, ruthless. Both powerful. One dominating Trensea, the other ruling the capital of Zheron.

And more importantly—

Draven was the one person Troy hated the most.

If she truly wanted revenge on Troy, no weapon was sharper than Draven.

But the thought dissolved almost as soon as it appeared.

Ayla knew too well how painful malicious harm felt. She couldn't bring herself to use someone—especially someone who'd always treated her decently—just to get back at Troy. That would be unfair to Draven.

Besides, Troy was right about one thing: No one could control Draven.

If she tried, it would be like reaching barehanded into a fire—riches gained only through risking her life.

Troy might not even do anything yet, and she'd already get burned to ash.

In the end ...

Ayla was not Blake. She wasn't a schemer.

She didn't want to harm anyone.

And after all these years of knowing Draven ... he had always treated her well.

To use him as a tool ran against every rule she lived by.

Ayla liked warmth and mutual support. That was the only way a relationship stayed happy.

Troy, though ...

She wasn't completely helpless.

She took out her phone and called Martin.

But the call was picked up by the butler, Lincoln. Martin had gone to the port city to meet old friends and wouldn't be back for a few days.

Ayla chatted briefly and ended the call.

The inheritance of the Winston Group wasn't in Troy's hands yet.

He wasn't untouchable—not entirely.

...

After the game, Draven made a very unexpected move.

He openly offered to drive her home.

Everyone was stunned.

Draven didn't buy a single word.

That look she'd given him earlier wasn't admiration—it was bold, predatory, almost like she wanted to pounce and tear into him.

Did he provoke her?

Or was she angry at him for standing on the sidelines?

Women never said what they actually meant.

Only nonsense came out of their mouths.

An unexplainable irritation rose in his chest—though his expression never changed.

His gaze shifted downward to her side profile—specifically, to the small bandage on her neck.

He'd noticed it the moment she returned.

"What happened here?"

No one else had asked about the bandage—not James, not Will, not Blake. Ayla hadn't expected Draven to be the one curious.

She sure as hell wasn't going to tell the truth. "Mosquito bite."

"This season doesn't have mosquitoes."

Ayla was caught red-handed.

"Troy hit you?" Draven's tone went icy.

If Troy was really that kind of trash, Draven would tell the old man himself.

That was his plan, though he didn't even realize he was meddling.

Naturally, Ayla had no idea what he was thinking.

"It wasn't him."