PROLOGUE

"Lets just get one thing clear; I don't like you and you hate me. It's a cycle of not being fond of each other, and that's totally cool with me. As long as you stay out of my way, you and I will have no problems. Got that?", he hissed lowly at me.

You can go to hell for all I care

If you think I'll be like Oh yes husband. Whatever you say husband, then you got another thing coming mister.

"I said, You. Got. That?", he enunciated, snapping me out of my thoughts then raised his eyebrow at me

"Yeah sure. Whatever", I pushed past him while attempting to drag my suitcases upstairs and being the gentleman he is, he just watched me while pocketing his hands.

"Ma'am, let me help you with that", Mary appeared in sight, and she tried to help me

"No Mary", he warned. "If she wants to carry her own bags, let her", with saying that she looked at me with sympathetic eyes before I nodded for her to let go.

The last thing I would want would be to cost her job. I threw a glare at him to notice him smirking at me. He probably found it hilarious that I was struggling with my bags. I should have never agreed to this now I have to spend the rest of my miserable life with him?

When I got to the top of the staircase. I sighed a sigh of victory and I noticed him ascending up the stairs, his eyes looking at in disgust, like he found me repulsive or something.

"That's your room over there—", he said pointing to the door on the left side down the long hall. "—and that is my room, a No—go area," he pointed to the door on the right side and I turned to raise my eyes up and down his body, which was my intimidating bitch face. Why would he think I would want to go into his bedroom?

—I'd rather swallow needles to be honest

"Very well then," he clapped his hands once to interlock his fingers together

"Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Kingsley", he said sarcastically and was about to leave but turned to look at me again, like he forgot to say something

"Don't get too comfortable though because you might not be staying here for too long," he did that fake mini smile thing before finally walking to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him

"A No—Go area. Welcome home. Don't get too comfortable", I mimicked him childishly as I pulled my suitcases behind me to my bedroom.

Pathetic.

I threw myself on the bed face down as I groaned lowly, and I felt my eyes get really heavy all of a sudden, slowly drifting to sleep again. It's been a rough couple of days.

I think I'll unpack as soon as I wake up, right now, I had to go to a world without the likes of Damon Kingsley. My sweet dreams.

*******

Layla's POV

I groaned loudly as the sun rays hit my eyes cruelly. Someone must have opened the curtains. I rolled on the bed to face away from such brutality so early in the morning.

"Baby cakes", a voice cooed. "It's time to get up", my Dad sat beside me as he shook me gently.

"Noooo", I whined as I covered myself with a pillow and groaned again. "Ten more minutes"

"Breakfast is almost ready, see you downstairs in a bit", I felt the bed undip next to me and a few seconds the door closed softly. I got up to sit up straight, rubbed the sleep off my eyes and let out a lazy yawn.

I looked like the walking dead in the morning, from my messed up hair and looking like I was almost hit by a train and got into a street fight. The mirror on the wall certainly proved me right. I got up from my bed stretching my arms and I pulled a muscle.

Yeah. I should really go back to jogging in the mornings, maybe from next week. I knew I was lying to myself because I was really good at procrastinating, but I had a bit of faith in myself.

I walked to the bathroom for a quick shower. I tied my hair in a messy bun, after it took me aged to even dry it. I wore a pair of navy blue jeans and a white tank top and my white sneakers. I wasn't a fan of make—up that much for I just put a little touch of mascara on my already long eyelashes, and I was good to go.

I walked downstairs to be welcomed by an amazing coffee aroma, it smelt heavenly. Man! I love coffee

Dad was already dishing up for us and I noticed there was a third plate on the table. Normally it would just be the two of us. My mother died when I was eight years old. She was diagnosed with leukaemia and unfortunately, after battling with the illness for four years, she passed away. It was the hardest time for our family, especially to my Dad, her passing really struck him hard. My mother meant the world to us, she bought that warm feeling to the house, making it a home. Her absence really left a void in our hearts, and it was clearly noticed.

"Morning", I kissed Dad on the cheek, and he smiled as he continued dishing up. Toast, bacon, scrambled eggs and sliced tomatoes

"Baby cakes", he grinned, and I rolled my eyes

"When are you going to stop calling me by that name?", I protested, folding my arms. He chucked softly, I knew he thought I was just being plain ridiculous.

"Uhm, let me see", he posed to think for a second. "When I'm dead", he began laughing. I sighed heavily.

"I'm too old for that name now. I'm 22 now Dad", I continued with my protests. Not that I was getting to him or anything. He had that, and what's your point exactly? look on his face.