Filed to story: Seventeen Heartbreaks: When Love Has No Voice
Edgar shook his head, his expression hardening. “I told you before that Leila is Landon’s bottom line, his only one. Your flight’s booked. I’m sending you back to Yoeloth tonight. Stay with Miss and don’t let Mr. Kensington see you again.”
Lenny’s eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them back and nodded.
Meanwhile, Landon found Leila in her room, reading in her nightgown. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating her. She looked like a goddess, ethereal and beautiful. There was a regal air about her, making one hesitant to disturb her.
Landon slowed his pace, drawn to her. “Reading in direct sunlight isn’t good for your eyes,” he said gently. “Shall we go to the garden?”
His voice was soft, almost as if he were talking to a child. Leila didn’t reply and just shook the book she was holding.
Curiosity piqued, Landon moved closer to see it was a diary, its worn cover suggesting it was at least a decade old.
Landon opened it, revealing delicate handwriting, clearly from a young woman. Worried his mask might scare her, he removed it.
As Landon was absorbed in the diary, he felt a warm touch on his cheek. Leila was gently tracing the scar on his face.
Landon dodged her hand, flustered. “It’s not a pretty sight,” he mumbled. “I’ll just put my mask back on.” Just as he was about to put the mask back on, Leila stopped him. Her gaze locked onto his, serious and searching. “Does it still hurt?” she asked.
Landon’s heart throbbed, his eyes stinging. He shook his head. “Not really,” he said, his voice thick. “The worst of it’s passed.”
Leila nodded, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She gestured for him to keep reading.
Landon sat back down, the silence broken only by the rustle of pages as he continued reading. It wasn’t until he reached the second half that he realized the entire diary revolved around him.
The early entries were just everyday stuff, nothing about anyone else, not even the Kensington family. But then, Landon’s name started appearing.
One entry read, “Today, Roderick took me to meet his grandson. He said his grandson was handsome and kind and that we’d get along great. But Roderick was wrong. Landon doesn’t like me at all. He was annoyed the moment he saw me and told me to go away. He said I was taking attention away from him. He called me a bad kid. I’m so sad.”
Landon felt a pang of guilt mixed with strange amusement as he read those last words. It was his fault, all right. Back then, with Shirley whispering poison in his ear, Landon had been convinced Leila was nothing but trouble, trying to steal his grandfather’s love.
At their first encounter, Landon frowned at Leila’s presence. Yet, as they spent more time together, she became like a sister to him. Over time, deeper feelings emerged-feelings Landon hesitated to express, wrestling with the notion that they were inappropriate.
Unbeknownst to Landon, their feelings were mutual; Leila had a crush on him. Yet, their common sensitivities and egos kept them from expressing their feelings, leading to much misunderstanding.
Landon wished to continue reading the diary. However, Leila grasped his hand, signaling him to pause. It appeared she simply wanted him to read this page. Perplexed, Landon glanced at Leila. Her gaze was intense, fixed upon him, her eyes silently urging him to clarify his feelings.
Landon didn’t expect her to still harbor bitterness from their past interactions. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, his voice laden with remorse.
“I never intended to be distant. Perhaps I should have been more forthright from the start, but my stubbornness got in the way. Can you forgive me now?” Leila offered no reply, merely releasing his hand.
Respecting her silence, Landon continued reading. The following pages detailed mundane daily life, void of the deep thoughts the younger Leila concealed. Perhaps she too viewed her unspoken feelings as inappropriate, choosing not to document them even privately.
A twinge of sadness struck Landon. He turned to Leila, taking her hand once more, his tone earnest. “Will you believe me if I say I fell in love with you long ago?”
Leila remained silent, her eyelashes fluttering slightly. They sat in silence for a lingering half-hour. Landon remained by her side. Fatigue eventually overcame Leila, and she dozed off against the chair. With gentle care, Landon lifted her into his arms and laid her on the bed. He tucked her in carefully, preparing to leave.
Unexpectedly, Leila’s hand reached out in a half-sleep state, gripping his. “Landon, don’t go,” she whispered faintly, her voice a soft plea.
A surge of emotion swelled within Landon, his heart stirring. He assured her softly, “I’m here. I won’t leave. I’ll stay right by your side.” Landon settled at the bed’s edge. Gradually, Leila drifted back into a peaceful sleep.
Over time, Leila’s condition improved markedly, and her demeanor toward Landon grew increasingly warm. Landon wasn’t surprised by this shift; after all, he had hurt her inadvertently before.
As for tracking Joanna down, Landon received no updates from his contacts. Life proceeded quietly. Yet, Landon sensed that calm would not last.
One morning, a servant rushed to find Landon. “Sir, there’s been an incident with Miss Nixon. Please, follow me!” Alarmed, Landon hurried over with the servant.
Arriving at Leila’s room, Landon found it empty, with only the sound of running water from the bathroom. Confused, Landon glanced at the servant, awaiting an explanation. The servant’s voice carried a tinge of embarrassment.
“Miss Nixon insisted on showering alone today, though we usually assist her. I stayed nearby, just in case something happened. Then, I heard her scream.
She’s fallen, I believe, but she vehemently refused help. I didn’t dare to barge in, fearing it might provoke her somehow. Sophie’s too young to assist effectively. I had no choice but to turn to you.”
Landon’s gaze shifted to the steamed bathroom door, feeling a headache coming on. “Stay here. I’ll handle this.” He didn’t barge in; instead, he knocked respectfully on the door. “What’s wrong, Leila? Did you slip? Please, can we have someone come in to check on you? Don’t worry; I’ll stay outside.”
Silence followed his words. Growing anxious, Landon knocked harder and called out, “Leila, are you alright?”
Impelled by concern, Landon forcefully opened the door and entered. The bathtub had overflowed, creating a veil of mist through which he spotted Leila collapsed on the floor. The sight of blood staining the tiles sent a sharp pang through his heart.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Landon draped a bath towel over her before attempting to lift her. Leila resisted, her movements weak but determined as she pushed against him.
Landon’s voice was calm and soothing as he said, “Get off the floor first. The floor is cold, and we need to tend to your injury.” Her resistance ebbed slightly at his words. She finally relented, pushing his hand away as she stood on her own, albeit unsteadily.
Landon supported her out of the bathroom, quickly draping a towel over her shoulders. Leila’s leg bore a frightful wound, though it was superficial.
Landon knelt to treat her, his actions gentle yet efficient. Leila watched him silently, her expression unreadable. After a tense silence, she finally asked, “Have you been looking after me like this recently?”
Landon looked up, surprise etched on his features as he met her gaze. “Are you feeling better now?” he inquired softly.
Leila nodded, turning her head away with a hint of embarrassment. “I must have fallen. It’s odd, but the fall seemed to clear my head. I’m sorry to bother you. I was too shocked just now.”
Landon continued his ministrations. “It’s no trouble at all. This is what I should do.”
She nodded again, and then sneezed suddenly.
Landon stood, wrapping her securely in a blanket before fetching a hair dryer. “Lie down on your stomach, and I’ll dry your hair,” he instructed, his tone gentle yet firm.
Leila complied, settling down as he had directed. Landon gently ran his fingers through her hair. The room filled with the soft hum of the hair dryer.
Despite regaining consciousness, Leila still felt slightly dizzy. Soon, she drifted off to sleep right before Landon’s eyes. Landon didn’t say anything. Before leaving the room, he instructed the servant to keep a vigilant watch, and that should Leila feel unwell or require assistance, her needs must be attended to immediately.
The servants couldn’t help but sigh. “Sir, your care for Miss Nixon is extraordinary. If I were her, I’d surely have fallen for you by now. She may seem reserved, but her heart is warm. We all look forward to hearing good news soon.”
Landon offered a wry smile and responded, “Please, don’t mention this again. And certainly not in front of Leila.” He paused and then added quietly, “She wouldn’t appreciate such talks.”
In another country, juggling between meeting her needs for accommodation and food daily while dodging Landon’s search team, Joanna reached her limit. She was acutely aware of the risks her presence could bring. Yet, she devised a plan. Joanna reached out to Sarah discreetly.
Sarah was skeptical, doubting that the one reaching out to her was Joanna. She couldn’t fathom Joanna’s sudden trip abroad. Impatiently, Joanna retorted, “Do you want to remain overshadowed by Leila forever?”
Three days later, news of Leila’s supposed involvement in a murder began circulating online. It started with a single video.
In the footage, Leila stood next to Charlee, who was drenched in blood. The video had been deliberately edited to obscure Leila’s expression, making it appear as though she had returned to the scene of a crime she committed.
Charlee’s status made the news go viral instantly, forcing the temporary closure of Leila’s auction house. To add fuel to the fire, Joanna took to social media, expressing her grief.
She claimed she’d been traveling abroad to clear her mind and hadn’t spoken to Charlee for several days, assuming Charlee was busy with work. Unexpectedly, she received the devastating news of Charlee’s death.
Appearing on camera, Joanna wept bitterly, her face pale and her body trembling as though she might collapse at any moment. No one would have suspected that the woman sobbing so heartbreakingly had been the one to kill her own mother.
It wasn’t long before the police arrived to question Leila. Landon explained the situation clearly, but the police remained skeptical; the circumstances were too suspicious to ignore. “Why didn’t you call the police? Even if Leila was held captive, why didn’t you report it as soon as she was freed?”
Landon felt a headache coming on. The last thing he wanted was to involve the authorities or reveal his true identity. His focus had been entirely on Leila; reporting the incident hadn’t crossed his mind.
The police reprimanded them and informed them they would be under surveillance until the truth was uncovered. This would severely limit Landon’s movements, no matter his intentions.
Leila’s headache mirrored Landon’s as she spoke with regret. “If I hadn’t been so careless, I wouldn’t have fallen into the trap, and you wouldn’t have been stuck here.
The police will eventually uncover the truth and clear my name, but until then, my reputation is tarnished, and I am unable to work. But for you, if your real identity comes to light, all those years of hiding will have been for nothing.”
Landon smiled, his eyes warm as he looked at her. “Are you worried about me?”
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Leila responded, “Call it whatever you want. I just want to repay you. If it weren’t for you, I would have been in a much worse state right now. I need to get some sleep.” Leila stood and headed back to her room.
Edgar opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by a sharp look from Landon. “Mr. Kensington,” Edgar began, rubbing his temple, “Miss Nixon is right. You need to consider your safety. If your real identity is exposed, the Kensington family won’t let you off so easily.”
Landon shifted his position, crossing his long legs with an air of casual elegance. His fingers drummed rhythmically against the armrest of the sofa. He sat there, the serene backdrop making him look as though he belonged in a painting.