She Misspelled Her Worth for His Last Name

Bennett said he’d come pick her up.

But in the end, Ayla completed the discharge procedures by herself.

From sunrise to sunset, she waited at the hospital—until, finally, her phone lit up with a message.

She tapped it open, only to be met with a cold line she should’ve expected.

[Hey. Vayda’s sick. She needs someone to look after her. Come back by yourself.]

‘Right. What’s I even expecting at this point?’ She laughed at herself bitterly. ‘This has to be the 98th time he disappointed me.’

What made her scoff even more was the timing—no cabs were available to book that rainy night. She ended up walking alone through the streets of Lewiston, drenched from head to toe.

As the rain blurred her vision, memories of the Bennett she used to know poured into her head.

‘He used to show up with an umbrella after class on rainy days…’ she recalled. ‘But that version of him… died the day Aston came into the picture.’

By the time she finally reached the villa, the main gate was already locked.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Bennett’s number anyway.

But the voice that answered wasn’t his.

It was Vayda’s—breathy, slow, and unmistakably seductive.

“Baby… mm… slower…”

Where Ayla stood, her heart dropped, her entire body stiff with shock.

She clenched the phone and shouted, “Bitch! What are you two doing?!”

She had already decided to leave him. She had already made that choice.

But hearing their betrayal with her own ears still left a sickening ache in her chest.

Then came the click of the line going dead.

Her fingers went slack. The phone slipped from her grip and hit the concrete. Ayla followed, crumpling onto the wet pavement like her body had simply given up.

Rain continued to pour in sheets, soaking her hair, her clothes, her bones—mourning with her, it seemed.

After a while, she dragged herself upright and stood beneath the villa’s second-story window. Through the faint glow of light behind the glass, she saw them—two figures, entwined in each other’s arms.

She didn’t need to guess who they were.

Moments later, she spotted Bennett—this time standing beside Vayda, gently drying her hair with a blow dryer. His hands moved with a care and tenderness Ayla hadn’t seen in years.

And then, like a wound being reopened, a memory surfaced.

It was a picture of a teenage guy, who used to run at the sound of her voice. He once stood behind her and grinned, declaring, “From now on, I’ll be the one to protect Ayla’s hair.”

That broken promise blurred Ayla’s vision with tears.

But before everything went black, she saw someone sprinting toward her.

“Ayla! You’re back just in time. Vayda isn’t feeling well, and Aston wants milk. Go make it for him,” a voice called out casually, like she was just a maid returning from errands.

She wanted to say no. She almost did.

But then she remembered—last time, all she’d done was refuse to let Vayda sit in the front seat. For that alone, Bennett had tossed Ayla out of the car and made her walk home through the night.

Terrified that another punishment was waiting, she obeyed like a servant. Despite the dark spots dancing in her vision and the nausea rising like bile, she steadied herself, made the milk—and collapsed to the floor the moment she finished.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself lying in bed, burning with fever. Shivers wracked her limbs, her skin hot and clammy.

Suddenly, loud, feral barking outside jolted her fully awake.

She bolted upright, every nerve snapping her fully awake, and rushed down the stairs.

What she saw next made her blood run cold.

The stray dog she and Bennett had once rescued together and raised as family was now tied up at the front gate, twitching violently as Aston whipped it again and again.

Beside him stood Vayda, clapping and cheering like the cruelty entertained her.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Ayla yelled, shoving the boy aside and scooping the wounded dog into her arms.

Suddenly, Aston’s face twisted in fury. He raised the whip higher, his small hands shaking with rage.

“Move! You made me milk from that thing! I’m gonna kill that monster!”

Panic surged through her. She tried to shield the dog, flailing to protect it. In the chaos, her elbow accidentally struck Vayda, who stumbled back with a gasp.

That one motion was enough to flip a switch in Aston.

His face contorted, his eyes wild. Without hesitation, he raised the whip again—this time aiming it at Ayla.

She tried to dodge, but the blow landed anyway, slashing across her arm. The fiery sting tore through her fevered body.

Behind her, the dog howled. Its eyes flashed with something feral and protective. Then, with a violent jolt, it broke free from its restraints and lunged straight at Aston.

“No—!” Ayla cried out, trying to stop it. But it was too late.

With a sickening crunch, the dog sank its teeth into Aston’s hand. The boy let out a shrill, agonized scream as blood gushed down his arm.

Just then, the front door slammed open.

Bennett stormed in, his eyes blazing at the sight of the dog clamped onto Aston’s hand, his ears hearing the boy wailing.

Bennett quickly kicked the dog away, sending it sprawling.

“Aston!” Vayda shrieked, rushing over. While inspecting his wound, she whirled around and pointed at Ayla.

“Ayla! If you hate me, take it out on me! Even if Aston isn’t your biological child, you can’t do this to him! First, you gave him dog milk—and now, you let that monster attack him!”

Bennett’s expression darkened at what he’d just heard.

“What?! Ayla! You’re risking Aston’s life?!”

Ayla stared at the two of them in a daze. Two words echoed in her head like a curse.

‘Dog milk?’

Before she could say a word, Vayda shoved her to the ground.

“Aston drank the milk you made, and now his tummy hurts! You can’t deny it! You let that dog attack him! We all saw it!”

When she turned to Bennett, Vayda’s voice broke into sobs while tears streamed down her cheeks. “Bennett, please… let us go. I can’t take this anymore! I can’t let Ayla hurt Aston again! Please…”

Bennett helped her up gently and wrapped her in his arms, his anger melting into concern.

“Don’t be scared, Vayda. Aston will be okay. I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Then, turning to Ayla, his voice hardened with accusation. “Ayla. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

Ayla stared at him blankly. Her voice came out hoarse, full of disbelief. “You don’t… You don’t believe me?”

Bennett nodded toward a medical report on the table. “The lab reports have confirmed it. Who do you think you’re fooling?”

“You really think I did that?” she asked, crawling forward and trying to clutch at his pant leg—but he stepped back, letting her fall.

“That’s enough, Ayla!” he snapped, raising his hand to signal his men. “I never thought you’d stoop this low. I can’t believe you really did such a dangerous thing just to get my attention!”

‘Dangerous?’

Something inside her broke at the realization that she could explain herself over and over, but he would never believe her.

“If you really don’t believe me,” she said, her voice trembling, “then I have nothing more to say.”

Her lips curled into a bitter, exhausted smile. “Why would I hurt that kid on purpose?” she muttered to herself. “What would I even gain from that?”

“Gain?” Bennett scoffed. “With Aston sick, you could get the chance to take Vayda out of the picture. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, Ayla?”