She Was Never Just the Wife novel Chapter 57

Chapter 57

Chapter 57

The atmosphere in the living room froze over for ten full seconds.

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Laylah stood in the bedroom doorway, her slender body trembling beneath the oversized men’s shirt. The collar hung askew, exposing her pale collarbone and shoulders, marked with vivid traces of intimacy that stood out starkly in the dim morning light.

The shirt barely reached her thighs, leaving her slim legs bare, faint bruises just above her knees hinting at a man’s rough grip. She stood barefoot on the cold floor, curling her toes nervously.

Her long hair hung in disarray, falling messily over her shoulders and cheeks, damp strands clinging to her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose reddened, her lips pale and quivering.

The gentle warmth in her gaze was gone, replaced by tears and a terrified, unfocused stare. Like a small animal caught in a trap, she clutched at her shirt until her knuckles turned white, as if it were the only thing holding her together.

Anyone who saw her in this state would instantly assume she’d been handled roughly, left shaken and humiliated.

The anger and shock on Emily’s face faded away when she saw Laylah in such a miserable state, replaced by a mix of surprise, realization, and a faint, almost imperceptible sense of relief.

“Laylah? Is that really you?” She subconsciously softened her tone, though some tension remained.

Stepping forward quickly, she didn’t even spare a single glance for her son, who was standing nearby, clutching the photos with a grim expression. She reached out and took Laylah’s cold, trembling hand.

“What happened to you? Why are you here? And… in this state?” Her eyes swept over the conspicuous marks on Laylah’s body. Though her brows were furrowed deeply, she did not show Laylah the same deep-seated resentment and criticism she held toward Celia.

Laylah flinched at the touch, as if startled, and her tears fell even harder. She shot a teary look at Emily, then darted a timid glance at Beckham, who stood frozen not far away.

Her lips trembled when she finally spoke, her voice weak and unsteady. “Mrs. Lucero… I… Beckham had too much to drink last night. He wasn’t feeling well, so Chad brought us here… I-I just wanted to take care of him… B-But he…”

In the end, her voice broke. She shook her head desperately, sobbing so hard that she couldn’t continue. But the tears streaming down her face conveyed the shame, helplessness, and vulnerability she couldn’t put into words perfectly.

Emily’s heart sank, yet at the same time, an odd sense of relief washed over her.

‘At least it’s not that wicked Celia,’ she thought. The situation was still embarrassing, but the fact that it was Laylah made it easier to accept.

After all, Laylah had already given Beckham a son, Ricardo. She came from a relatively respectable family, and she was known for being tactful and well-mannered. More importantly, she had always been polite and

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Chapter 57

respectful since her return.

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Compared to Celia, whom Emily distrusted deeply, Laylah was a much more acceptable alternative- especially after such a disgraceful incident.

Emily guided Laylah to the couch, gently easing her down. Settling beside her, she held her cold hands tightly, never letting go, hoping to offer what comfort she could.

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart. Take your time. I’m here.” Her tone had softened considerably, but her gaze sharpened again when she turned to her son. “Beckham! What happened here? Explain yourself!”

Beckham felt the confusing turmoil and suffocating pressure in his chest surging to a breaking point the moment he saw Laylah emerge from the room, saw the shocking bruises on her body, heard her broken sobs, and listened to her muddled explanation.

He was still clutching the photos, accusing Celia of drugging him, in his hands, but the reality was this: he had slept with Laylah last night.

‘What’s the connection here? Was Laylah set up, too? Or is there something else going on?’ he wondered, his mind spinning.

Faced with his mother’s interrogative question, he rubbed his aching temples in frustration. His voice came out hoarse. “Mom, I drank too much last night. I don’t remember everything clearly. Laylah brought me back, and then…”

He paused, glancing at the sobbing Laylah. Fragmented memories from last night’s passionate encounter made his throat tighten. “Honestly, everything after that is a blur. But those photos…”

“The photos can wait!” Emily cut him off sharply, her tone brooking no argument.

In her mind, the photos already proved everything: Celia was behind the drugging, and Beckham and Laylah were the victims.

The logic was simple and airtight. Celia had likely been trying to ruin Beckham or pull some other scheme, but Laylah had become the unintended victim instead.

The rest of the details could be sorted out later, but as far as she was concerned, the important facts were clear.

Celia was the evil mastermind. Laylah was the innocent victim. And her son? He was the other victim, one who made a mistake after being drugged, which, given the circumstances, was understandable.

Her mind raced. A plan quickly took shape. Patting Laylah’s hand comfortingly, she turned to Beckham. “Since it has already happened, and under such despicable circumstances, there’s no point in hiding it.”

Her voice was firm and decisive. “You’re already divorced from Celia anyway. Now that you and Laylah have this kind of relationship-and she already gave us Ricardo-you need to take responsibility for her, in every

sense.”

Laylah flinched ever so slightly at those words and lowered her head even further. But it was hard to tell if the shy blush creeping over her cheeks was genuine.

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Chapter 57

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Her fingers nervously twisted the hem of her shirt as she sniffled softly. “Mrs. Lucero, please don’t say that… I chose to take care of Beckham last night. Whatever happened between us… I don’t blame him… He really doesn’t owe me anything…”

She claimed she didn’t need Beckham to take responsibility, but her pitiful, self-sacrificing demeanor was far more compelling than any direct request.

Laylah’s words invoked a sense of heartache, mixed with anger, in Emily. She shot her son a fierce glare. “Did you hear that, Beckham? Laylah is so considerate. She’s still thinking about you, even at a time like this.”

Her words grew increasingly scathing. “But what about you? Can you even call yourself a man?”

She continued, “A pure and innocent girl like Laylah… Do you know how much she went through for you, raising Ricardo all by herself? And now you…”

Her sentence trailed away for a moment. “After what you’ve done to her, how can you just stand there and act as if nothing happened? The Lucero family has never had someone so irresponsible, so callous!”

“Mom!” Beckham suddenly raised his voice, a vein throbbing at his temple.

He glared at his mother, who acted like it was only natural for him to “take responsibility,” then at Laylah, who looked absolutely sad and pitiful. The suffocating frustration burning inside him grew bigger.

‘Take responsibility? How exactly? Marry her? Just because of some drunken, possibly orchestrated, encounter?’ he thought, his mind in turmoil.

Yes, he felt guilty seeing the marks on Laylah and thinking about how rough he had been last night. But guilt was not enough for him to marry her.

Besides, those photos were eating away at him. They were like a constant thorn in his side; he couldn’t just dismiss them. ‘Celia… The drugging incident… Are they really just a coincidence?’ he wondered, suspicion gnawing at him.

“It’s not as simple as you think!” His voice was strained. Though he suppressed his anger and impatience, they were evident in his voice.

He snapped, “My head’s a mess right now. I need time to figure things out. The photos, what happened last night… Everything needs to be investigated. This isn’t the time to talk about taking responsibility!”

“Investigate? What’s there to investigate?” Emily’s anger flared up again, thinking Beckham was trying to deflect the issue. “Those photos clearly show that everything was caused by that vicious wretch, Celia. She’s determined to ruin you.”

She paused. “And as for what happened last night… You’re a grown man. If you did something, you should take responsibility for it. Besides, Laylah’s just a girl. Do you really think a weak girl like her could have forced you?”

She looked at him sternly. “Let me warn you right now: if you don’t step up and do right by Laylah and Ricardo, neither I nor your father-nor your grandfather in his grave-will ever forgive you!”

Brogan, who had been quietly standing in the corner, frowned as he watched the heated argument unfolding before him.

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Chapter 57

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His gaze drifted from Emily, who was fiercely pushing for marriage, to Laylah, who was tearfully voicing her grievances, then to Beckham, whose frustration and restless anxiety were increasingly hard to contain.

Finally, his gaze settled on Laylah’s hands, gripping her shirt so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, and the faint, rapid flutter of her eyelashes beneath her lowered gaze.

The sense of unease in his mind grew stronger. Laylah’s reaction was too perfect, too flawless, as though she had rehearsed the scene to perfection.

What’s more, there seemed to be something deeper to Beckham’s objection… It went beyond simple guilt and confusion. Rather, it was almost like an instinctive rejection.

As for those photos… The timing and precision were too neat. The way they unanimously blamed Celia was deliberate and unsettling.

He quickly lowered his eyes again, hiding his suspicions deep in his heart. “This isn’t my place to speak,’ he thought.

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