Between love and betrayal

Return to the past

A white light invaded Layla, but slowly began to fade until darkness took over her surroundings.

—Hey... hey, wake up... —was heard from far away.

The world faded, the voices fell silent, the atmosphere became cold.

—Where am I? —Layla mentioned.

—Oh dear, she's awake,— was heard between shouts.

The crowd of nurses ran in desperation. The little girl with the perfect face had woken up from her trauma.

—How's my baby? How's my baby?— she screamed at each silhouette that crossed her eyelids.

No one would answer her, no one would tell her what had happened. Layla had lost her recent memories, but the doctors helped her immediately.

—Miss, are you in the hospital, do you have any relatives to call? —a doctor asked kindly.

Layla's face twitched in denial. She had accepted that this would be the beginning of perfect anonymity. She had no husband, no father, she was alone.

---

The recovery was a success, she left the country and started studying business administration and design. She always wanted to study, to be someone more than the "wife of".

Time went on, people started to get to know her, her designs, her wonderful way of keeping the company accounts. Now it was natural, she was no longer the weak girl dependent on her nefarious ex-husband, Layla had been blessed with a gift, and was now the general manager of the design department of KG Odjeća, a fashion design company in Croatia.

—Layla, I need you to travel to another city, we need to close a deal, and you are the right person for it,— said Kernel Giorgio, the company's president.

Layla was stunned, the moment she heard that city she had to go to.

She didn't believe it when Mr. Giorgio told her that she had to return to Vienna to do a job, but perhaps fate had a surprise in store for her.

Layla accepted, without any fear, after all the past was there, in the past and it was really unnecessary to give up because of a stupidity like the fear of going back.

Full of feelings, full of decisions made, Layla had rebuilt her life during those 6 years since that sad accident.

It had been years since Layla had last touched her city. She felt ready to go back. Her pain, anger and disappointment had disappeared. A girl had brought light into her life.

Now she could hold her head up high and face anything that came her way. She had always had in mind that she would never set foot in that place that had brought so much misfortune into her life, regardless of the twists and turns of life.

***

The days passed and at Vienna airport a crowd of people, pushing, shoving, shouting and despair was gathering.

The flight had just arrived. A woman is running, hand in hand with a little girl and a luggage trolley. Tall, slim build, angelic eyes and face.

She wore high-waisted, opaque trousers and a gold silk shirt, matching her long dark hair that looked straight and straight. Her skin was smooth, milky white.

The crowd watched her, as if she were the most beautiful mermaid of spring, slowing her steps and bumping into everyone around her.

The little girl she held in her hands was dressed in a teddy dress, with a navy blue hat and slippers adorned with yellow flowers. Her hair was short and black, she was a beautiful violet-eyed princess.

The girl looked at everyone, she felt their stares, but she was used to it, after all, she was just a child.

—Mama, kamo idem? —asked the girl.

But what did she say?" It was a strange language, the little girl had not yet mastered German.

—It's the city where I was born, you'll like it as much as I do,— said her mother, rubbing her little head with the palm of her hand.

—You have to practise your German, they don't understand our language here,— her mother added.

The girl smiled and nodded in response to her young mother. They both started walking, and looking at the airport signs.

—A woman will come to pick us up, soon you will know the whole city,— she said in a soft, smiling voice.

The two stood on the benches, waiting for the woman to pick them up at the airport.

Feelings from the past came back to her. Thoughts that had been omitted resurfaced from the depths of her mind.

—Mum, what are you thinking about? —asked the girl, noticing her mother in a state of silence and oblivion.

Layla looked at the girl and smiled: —I'm glad I'm back,— she added.

The girl was smart, quite smart for her five years. She knew her mother was not as happy as she said she was. Something was wrong, but, she was a child, she couldn't get involved or she would upset her.

—Mommy, Mommy, look, over there,— the girl said as she raised her hands to a huge sign.

A woman held in her hands a huge poster board with the name LAYLA DELFIGALO on it.

—Is that the woman you told me about,— asked the girl.

—Yes, Milka, that's the woman who's coming to get us.

When Layla saw her, she deduced that she was the woman Brianna had sent for them. She knew that her friend was very busy that weekend, they both worked at the same company, and bothering her wouldn't do much good.

However, Brianna had arranged for them to rent a flat during their stay in Vienna.

Layla got up from the bench, took the Milka in one hand and the suitcase in the other and approached the big sign.

—Hello, I'm Layla Delfi....

—Delfigalo? Miss Layla Delfigalo? The designer? —asked the woman, cutting off Layla's words.

Layla nodded, looking at the woman, she seemed stunned, intrigued, maybe the outfit she was wearing wasn't what she expected from a fashion executive.

—Pleasure, Samantha Miller.

Samantha looked her up and down, she didn't understand. Her clothes, her face. She was a very young woman for such an executive position. The obscene thoughts kept creeping in, but it was, after all, too soon to judge.

—She's my daughter, Milka, she doesn't understand German very well yet, but she'll learn little by little,— Layla added.

Samantha couldn't help but be surprised. Her daughter? She's too young to have a daughter. Her smile was cheerful, but intriguing at the same time. Everything about her shocked him, not in a bad way, she was great in so many ways.

Milka was disconsolate, hiding behind her mother's long legs. With her hand she grabbed the pull of his shirt and asked for a sigh.

It was summer, the sun was at its highest. There was heat in every corner, so it was a little late to pick them up at the airport.

Layla was grateful, how could she not be, the company had comforted her in every way.

—Oh Miss Delfigalo, I am thrilled to help you on this trip. Many of us introduced ourselves. They say you're the best at your job, it's an honour to be here,— Samantha said with a smile from ear to ear.

Layla was flattered, held out her hands and greeted her decently. —Please call me Layla while we're away from the company. —

It was strange that she was always called by her last name, and she smiled happily at the light-eyed, sturdily built woman.

Layla felt a little squeeze on the end of her shirt. Milka, the little girl with the dark curls.

—Mommy, Mommy, I want to go to the bathroom,— Milka said constipatedly.

Layla took her by the hand and wanted to take her to one of the airport toilets, just before leaving, but Milka stopped and asked her to let her go alone - after all, she was already five years old.

Milka jumped up and down, humming a lullaby. Minutes passed, she had just used the bathroom. Maybe her mother was worried outside, waiting for her. She washed her hands and hopped and hummed her way back to the exit.

Boom. A woman, tall, with a framed figure, wore over her body a dress of light, white cloth, edged with gold. It had a jagged double strap at the end, with high, golden heels, with butterflies adorning its straps. Milka didn't notice her coming out of one of the cubicles, and bumped into her noisily.

—Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry,— said little Milka, as she looked up at her, tall and tanned.

She was sincere, she was sorry, her face was both fearful and ashamed.

The woman looked her up and down. As an adult, she was supposed to nod, and accept the girl's apology, but, instead, her gaze turned dark, and her eyebrows rose.

—Brat, can't you see where you're walking? Are you blind? You've wrinkled my dress! You have no idea how expensive this dress is, it's the last one from KG Odjeća! You've ruined everything, you stupid woman,— shouted the enraged woman.

Milka was a smart girl, she knew her mother's work perfectly well. When she heard that name, her mother came to mind.

—My mummy works there,— said Milka cheerfully, thinking the woman was smiling at her.

On the contrary, sarcastic laughter burst from her crimson lips.

Milka didn't understand why the woman was so hateful... she was just a child, why would she insult her like that?

The woman looked her dress up and down, checked every nook and cranny. It was a perfect design from that famous Croatian fashion house, it couldn't be ruined by an insolent girl.

She walked over to the bathroom mirror and turned her body, she wanted to look at the back of her dress. She looked at her face, Francin, beautiful and frivolous as ever, had just returned from her fifth modelling tour in Italy.

She was about to be introduced to hundreds of journalists outside the airport, and Milka, she had crumpled her dress. She had left the moisture from her hands on the thin fabric.

Francin was furious, you could see it on her face. Her mood was grim, dark, and noticing those small, scarred hands ignited her hatred.

—I'm very sorry, madam. I can ask my mother to design you a dress if it bothers you so much,— Milka mentioned in a hopeful tone.

She felt helpless, worried about the way Francin was looking at her with hatred, it was her only solution so far.

—Your mother must be a mediocre seamstress. This dress was created by the CEO of KG Odjeća herself, don't offend me,— she mentioned with laughter and contempt.

Milka scowled at her. She knew he was referring to her mother, but she fell silent and let her gaze linger on her.

It was a grim scene, and childish, but, Francin came to himself and detailed that look. That pair of eyes that looked like peas, her smooth, shiny skin, the way she furrowed her eyebrows.

Oh, my! Francin had noticed a terrible resemblance to Bradley. She was an inscriptionist, but why did that brat look so much like Bradley?

She couldn't understand the reason, she couldn't think straight. She seemed to have seen a ghost.

She was about to marry Bradley, the love of her life, and this was nothing to celebrate.

—Come on, Francin, calm down. She's just a kid. It has nothing to do with Bradley,— she kept repeating.

She was really worried, you could tell. Her skin crawled and her eyes widened, but it wasn't important. This girl couldn't have anything to do with her fiancé, after all, she'd spent all these years in that relationship and nothing was going to ruin it for her.

Francin was over that woman, he'd finally gotten her away from Bradley. He was hers, no one else's. He sighed deeply, leaned forward and opened his lips softly.

—Princess, what's your daddy's name? —

Milka looked at her and then averted her gaze to behind her body, the bathroom exit, it was late, time was passing, her mother was worried, waiting for her outside.

—I'm sorry, I can't tell my things to mean people like you,— said little Milka.

Francin frowned, and leaned a little closer to the girl. —I'm not a bad person,— she said as she smiled hypocritically.

He didn't understand, he wanted an answer. Her doubts were there, even if she wanted to omit them.

Milka closed her lips and stopped looking at her. She wanted to push her away, but Francin grabbed her arm and gave her one last look.

—I'm going to find out who your father is, brat,— said Francin, having lost his patience.

—Mrs. Francin, I've been looking for you everywhere. Come on, the reporters are waiting for you at the airport entrance,— mentioned a woman in a drab grey suit and dark glasses.

Francin let go of Milka's arm and changed his face to one of terror, intense and desperate in a second, nodded his head and snorted with a sarcastic smile.

—This pretty girl has ruined my dress,— she said grumpily.

The woman in the dark dress looked at her and her face darkened. She knew Francin's temperament perfectly well. In fact, everyone knew him. He was not kind, not decent.

On the contrary, she was disrespectful, selfish and bossy. Only those who were close to her could put up with such mistreatment.

People outside of work saw her as the sweetest woman they had ever come across, but she was not. Or at least that's what they realised when they picked on her in some way.

—Why the hell are you still standing there? Go on, tell the reporters to get ready for the pictures,— Francin mentioned angrily.

—And you, you little devil, you'd better watch where you're walking or they'll wipe that stupid grin off your face,— she added without a hint of sweetness.

She averted her gaze towards the entrance, looked up and left immediately.

Milka saw her as an untouchable, evil, stupid queen. She turned her face into a smile and went off in search of her mother.

Layla was outside, and passed by just as Francin had faded into the distance.

—Milka, daughter, what took you so long? Are you all right? —Layla asked, placing her palm on Milka's forehead.

—Mommy, Mommy, I'm fine. I'm so hungry,— Milka replied in a weak voice.

Layla hugged her tightly and then took her hand. They both walked towards Samantha and arrived at the entrance of the airport.

There were a lot of people, even more people than they had walked through when they got off the plane.

There were cameras, microphones and dozens of reporters. It was strange.

—What's going on? Is there a celebrity visiting,— Layla asks.

Samantha hears her and remembers exactly what was going on.

—Oh, yes, ma'am. Supermodel Francin Cleare returns from Milan today. All the TV news is eagerly awaiting her. She's very beautiful,— she says.

At the sound of her name, Layla felt a lump form in her throat.

She knows Francin Cleare well, of course, his presence cost her five years of marriage. He never took her into account, she was supposed to be a simple impossible love for Bradley, but, things didn't flow as she imagined for years.