1,095 Mornings for Nothing The Day I Walked Away from Dylan Chase

Layla’s POV I brought breakfast to Dylan Sterling exactly 1,095 times. The year his father went to prison, Dylan locked himself in his bedroom for three months straight. He refused to talk. He refused to see a single soul. I was the one who climbed over his backyard wall every single morning, leaving a warm breakfast on his windowsill. I’d sit beneath that window, telling terrible dad jokes until my throat went hoarse, refusing to leave until he took a bite. When he finally walked out of that dark room and started smiling again, everyone said Dylan owed his life to me. Everyone assumed we were destined to end up together. Until the night of the Sterling Group Charity Gala. He took the stage, took the mic, and announced that he was about to introduce the most important person in his life. Instantly, every pair of eyes in the ballroom turned toward me. I sat in the third row, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it almost knocked the breath out of me. I even smoothed down my dress, nervously rehearsing what I’d say when he called my name. Instead, Dylan stepped off the stage, walked right past my table, and headed straight toward the far side of the ballroom. He took Chloe Hayes by the hand and led her up the stairs. "Meet Chloe Hayes. My date for tonight." The entire room went dead silent. Three seconds later, whispers exploded across the banquet hall like grease hitting a hot pan. I sat frozen, my fingers digging into the linen tablecloth until my knuckles turned stark white. Wearing a wine-red evening gown, Chloe looped her arm through Dylan’s and walked right up to me after they stepped off the stage. "Layla, please don't take this to heart," Chloe said, keeping her voice just loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. "Dylan just felt too awkward to reject you in public. After all, you've been chasing him for years." Her lips formed words of sympathy, but her eyes dripped with pure, unapologetic triumph. I said nothing. I pushed my chair back and walked away. Toward the end of the night, I passed through the VIP lounge. Dylan and Chloe were sitting together on the velvet sofa, their heads pressed close over a phone, laughing until their shoulders shook. Several of Dylan’s business associates were sitting right next to them. The second Dylan saw me, the smile melted off his face. He leaned back against the cushions. "What are you doing here?" "I came to ask you one thing," I said. My voice trembled, but I forced my spine to stay straight. "What did that stunt on stage mean?" Dylan let out a sharp, mocking chuckle and glanced at his friends. "Can you believe this?" he sneered. "After all this time, she still can't take a hint. Talk about shameless." The men beside him chuckled in chorus. The blood drained from my face. "Word on campus is that you're sleeping with your academic advisor," Dylan said, casually swirling the whiskey in his glass. "I didn't believe it at first. But seeing how desperate you cling to people, maybe the rumors are true." Chloe lightly tugged at his sleeve, putting on a show of gentle restraint. "Dylan, stop. That's too harsh." "Did I say anything wrong?" Dylan stared straight into my eyes. "One thousand and ninety-five breakfasts. You actually thought that entitled you to my heart? Let me make one thing clear: that kiss back then? I was wasted. I thought you were someone else." With that, he wrapped his arm around Chloe’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Chloe is my girlfriend." I stood there, feeling as though every drop of blood had been drained from my body. When the gala wrapped up, Dylan didn't spare me a single glance. Back in my hotel room, a vicious stomach ache hit me. I hadn't eaten all night. I curled up under the sheets, shivering in pain. Then came a knock at the door. Thinking it was room service, I pulled the door open. Dylan stood in the hallway, holding a box of caramel pudding. "Stomach hurts?" His tone was unexpectedly soft. He stepped inside, placed the pudding on the nightstand, and lifted a spoonful to my lips. "Eat something sweet. It'll settle your stomach." I looked up at him, my vision blurring with tears. "He still cares," I thought. "Somewhere deep down, he still cares." I opened my mouth. The pudding was sickeningly sweet. Watching me swallow the last bite, Dylan suddenly grinned. "Tastes good?" he asked. "There’s a little extra something in it." My mind went blank. The door swung wider, and Chloe strolled in, twirling an empty paper packet between her manicured fingers. "High-dose laxatives," Chloe chuckled. "Dylan asked me to mix it in. He said you’ve been looking a little bloated lately." Dylan leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and looking down at me like I was dirt beneath his shoes. "I could feed her poison," he said casually, "and she’d swallow it down thinking it was candy." The next morning was the university final exam. I spent the entire dawn chained to the bathroom, losing four pounds in a single morning. When the last exam bell rang, I braced my trembling hands against the corridor wall. The world spun black, and I collapsed onto the cold linoleum floor. Through my fading consciousness, I caught a glimpse of Dylan standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Pathetic," he muttered.Layla’s POV When I woke up, the hospital ceiling was blindingly white. A nurse stepped in to adjust my IV, mentioning that my academic advisor had found me and covered the initial emergency bill. "It wasn't... Dylan Sterling?" I whispered. The nurse shook her head silently. I grabbed my phone. The campus group chats were blowing up with hundreds of notifications. At the very top of the feed was a photo posted by Chloe: two hands intertwined, fingers locked tight. On the webbing of the guy's thumb were two small, distinctive moles. Off the market. ❤️" he caption read. I stared at those two moles for a long time. Dylan had those exact marks on his hand. My brain couldn't process it. I had only fainted outside an exam room. I had only spent one night in a hospital bed. How could my entire world turn upside down overnight? I dialed Dylan's number. The party you have dialed is currently busy. I dialed again. Busy. I switched to an alternate burner number. It rang once before clicking abruptly into silence. He had blocked me. Before I could breathe, my phone rang again. It was our housekeeper. "Miss Layla, something terrible happened at the house," she whispered frantically. "Your father brought two women home. He says they’re moving in permanently." I ripped the IV needle out of my arm and sprinted out of the hospital. When I threw open the front door of our family villa, two women were already sitting comfortably in the living room. Chloe sat on the sofa. Beside her sat a middle-aged woman—Melinda. My father, Harrison Vance, stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to me. "Dad," my voice shook violently. "What is the meaning of this?" He turned around, completely expressionless. "Chloe is your older half-sister. Melinda is her mother. Starting today, they live here." "Half-sister?" A bitter, hysterical laugh broke from my throat, tears welling in my eyes. "My mother is dying in a cardiac care unit, and you bring your mistress and her bastard into our home?" Harrison’s face darkened instantly. "Watch your tongue!" he snapped, lowering his voice into a vicious hiss. "Who do you think pays for your mother's cardiac treatments? Cause one more scene, and I cut off her medication tomorrow." My mouth opened, but not a single sound came out. My mother's life was gripped tightly in his fist. I didn't dare fight back. Chloe stood up, took me by the wrist, and dragged me out toward the backyard garden. "Layla," she smiled, her voice dripping with venom. "I took my mom's last name, but I’m Harrison Vance's firstborn daughter. I’m five months older than you. Half of everything you’ve ever owned belonged to me from the start." She leaned in, whispering directly into my ear: "Except I don't just want half. I want everything." Snapping, I raised my hand and slapped Chloe across the face with everything I had. Chloe froze for a second, then lunged forward, clawing at my hair. We crashed through the patio and into the garden, knocking over the heavy stone planter by the pool. Terracotta shattered against the flagstones. Jagged shards slashed through our bare arms and legs, drawing instant crimson lines. A long, deep cut tore across my forearm, warm blood dripping from my fingertips. Chloe’s temple took a hit, blood smearing half her forehead. The screech of tires cut through the air. Dylan’s car slid to a halt at the gate, and he sprinted in. Without hesitation, he shoved me aside with brute force. My back slammed violently against the stone pool ledge, pain radiating down my spine until I went numb. He didn't look at me. He dropped to his knees and swept Chloe gently into his arms. "You're okay now," he murmured, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. "I’m taking you to the ER." I sat on the cold stone, staring up at him through blurred vision. "She is your sister," Dylan looked down at me, his eyes colder than winter frost. "How could you be so vicious?" My father and Melinda rushed outside, crowding around Chloe, frantically fussing over her scratches and asking if she was in pain. Not a single person looked back at me, bleeding onto the pool deck. Suddenly, I began to laugh. The laugh turned into silent, scalding tears. When the sirens faded and the driveway emptied, I was left alone in the dirt. I dragged myself up, pulled out my phone, and searched for a contact I had saved months ago. It was the program director from an elite overseas university’s finance department whom I had met during a global academic summit last summer. The call connected. "Professor, it's Layla Vance," I said, my voice shockingly steady. "I’d like to accept the direct admission offer. Is it still open?"Layla’s POV I sat in the clinic chair as the nurse finished bandaging the laceration on my arm. The door banged open. Dylan stormed in, instantly grabbing me by my freshly bandaged wound. Pain spiked through my nerves. Tears leaped into my eyes. "Give up your fast-track master’s nomination," Dylan demanded, his voice devoid of warmth. "Transfer the spot to Chloe." I gritted my teeth, leaned forward, and sank my teeth savagely into the back of his hand. Dylan hissed in pain, releasing his grip. I scrambled back toward the wall. He took two aggressive strides, pinning me against the plaster, trapping both of my wrists above my head in a vise grip. "You bit me?" He leaned in, his breath hitting my cheek. "You're getting brave, Layla." "I'll say it once more: forfeit your nomination to Chloe." "Never," I locked eyes with him, spitting out each syllable. "Your mother's hospital bills," Dylan smiled cruelly. "How much longer do you think Harrison Vance will keep paying them? One word from me, and the hospital pulls the plug on her meds tomorrow." My entire body went rigid. I stared at the face in front of me. The face I had adored for years. Then, breaking one wrist free, I swung my arm and struck him across the cheek. "Smack." "Dylan Sterling," my voice shook, but every word fell with deadly precision. "Starting right now, I don't love you anymore." Dylan’s head was thrown to the side. He slowly turned back, staring at me as if I had spoken in tongues. "You don't love me?" He laughed, as if hearing the punchline of a bad joke. "Layla, you've chased me like a stray dog for years. You think you can just turn it off?" He grabbed my arm and dragged me down the hallway, intending to force me into the dean's office to sign the withdrawal waiver. "Let go of me!" "You sign the paper, then I let go." We were struggling near the faculty lounge when my academic advisor rounded the corner. "Sterling! What do you think you're doing?" The professor stepped firmly between us. "A fellowship withdrawal must be signed willingly by the candidate. Who do you think you are to touch her?" Dylan’s expression darkened. He let go. I hit the floor, my wrists bruised with dark red welts. I dragged myself up, walked back to my dorm room, and stared at the ceiling. Since childhood, I had taken the blame for Dylan twelve times. When he skipped finals to play video games, I lied to the dean, saying he was fixing my laptop. When he got into a brawl and shattered someone’s jaw, I bowed to the victim’s parents, claiming it was my fault. The year his father was indicted, he smashed a university computer lab in a fit of rage—I took the disciplinary write-up, saying I knocked the towers over by accident. One thousand and ninety-five days. One thousand and ninety-five morning meals. I stupidly believed that if I stayed long enough, stone would turn into a beating heart. Now I knew: some people are simply born hollow. I thought of my mother. Behind my father’s back, when I turned eighteen, my mother had transferred all of her pre-marital assets, private funds, and personal family trusts into my name. Over the years, managed discreetly, that portfolio had multiplied several times over. Financially, I didn't need a single cent from Harrison Vance. I pulled out my phone and booked an international flight. The next morning, I visited the cardiac specialty hospital to meet my mother’s attending physician, finalizing every detail of an overseas medical evacuation. Standing outside her room, I gazed through the observation window. My mother lay beneath the thin sheets, frail and gaunt. I lifted a hand to push the door open, then hesitated. The cuts on my arms hadn't healed. The bruises on my face were still dark. I couldn't let her see me like this. I stood by the glass for a long time, swallowed my tears, and turned away. That evening, the villa was deserted. My father had taken Melinda and Chloe out for an upscale dinner. The house was cold and dead. The following day, I took an official leave of absence from campus, packing my clothes, research notes, and personal items into shipping crates bound for the airport. On the third day, I returned to campus in a long-sleeved turtleneck, hiding every mark on my skin. Walking through the quad, I noticed people staring. Whispers followed every step I took. Pointed fingers, quiet sneers. I had no idea what was coming.Layla’s POV I was recognized in the lobby of the hotel across from campus. I had just stepped out of a conference room after finalizing the contract with the medical transport agency. Two girls brushed past me, did a double take, and leaned in to whisper. "That's her, right? From the campus board?" "Definitely. Look, you can see the bandages on her arm." I froze. I pulled out my phone and tapped open the anonymous campus forum. Pinned to the very top was a trending post: "Straight-A Finance Major Layla Vance Trades NSFW Photos for Cash Advances She Can’t Repay." Attached was an image. The girl’s face was blurred, but her frame, hair, and clothing were identical to mine. I stared at it for three seconds. It was a fake. The outfit in the photo was what I had worn the night my mother suffered her massive cardiac arrest. I had spent that entire night in the ICU waiting room, tracked every second by hospital security cameras. It was an AI-generated deepfake. I closed the app, preparing to dial the police. "Ding." The elevator doors opened. Dylan stepped out into the lobby. The moment his eyes landed on me, he marched over and snatched the phone from my hand. "Layla," he barked, his voice echoing across the marble floor, drawing the eyes of every guest in the lounge. "Do you have any self-respect left? Selling naked photos for loan shark money? How low can you sink?" I lunged forward to grab my phone back. "Give it back to me!" Dylan tapped through my screen, pulling up the medical records and injury logs I had saved from my ER visit. He walked over to the lobby’s giant promotional monitor, plugged the cable in, and cast my screen. My bruised arms, lacerations, and intimate medical reports were suddenly magnified across a twelve-foot display. "Take a good look, everyone," Dylan announced, pointing up at the screen. "Where do you think these bruises came from? Messing around with shady guys, probably." The lobby erupted into gasps and murmurs. Looking at his smug face, the puzzle pieces fell into place. The post on the campus board. It was him. "It was you," my voice was barely a whisper, but it sliced like glass. "You posted that thread." Dylan leaned close, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "So what if it was?" he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. "You hurt Chloe. Someone had to teach you a lesson." I raised my arm to slap him, but he caught my wrist mid-air. Right then, my phone buzzed violently in his grip. A call from the hospital. I brought my heel down with full force onto his dress shoe. Dylan cursed, loosening his grip. I snatched my phone back and hit accept. "Is this Layla Vance? Your mother has gone into acute arrest! We cannot reach your father! Get here immediately!" All the warmth vanished from my blood. "I'm on my way!" I hung up and sprinted for the exit. Dylan yelled my name behind me, but I didn't glance back. Bursting through the revolving doors, I hailed a cab and shouted the hospital’s name. The taxi screeched to a halt outside the cardiac center. I shoved the door open. And froze. Chloe Hayes stood right in front of the main entrance, flanked by three street thugs. "Layla," Chloe purred with a sweet smile. "In a rush?" Before I could scream, two pairs of rough hands clamped over my mouth, dragging me straight into a waiting van.