Chapter 98: Layla Asserts Her Claims

The Norse dining room carried the comforting hum of a home that was never truly quiet.

Morning light spilled across the long mahogany table—custom-built and large enough to seat ten—its polished surface reflecting the soft clink of silverware and the gentle rustle of napkins.

Today, nine chairs were filled. Nine family members gathered close. Nine distinct personalities woven together by blood, habit, and years of shared meals.

Beneath the crystal glasses and neatly folded linen was something warmer than routine—an unspoken familiarity, the kind that comes from growing up at the same table, arguing, laughing, and returning the next morning as if nothing could ever truly pull them apart.

At the head sat Leonard Norse, broad-shouldered even in a simple morning shirt, presence heavy as a general presiding over his troops. To his right, as always, Madeline—elegant, composed, the axis around which the household’s warmth revolved. On Leonard’s left sat Liam, the firstborn, posture straight, expression unreadable. Rank was not a suggestion in this family. It was law.

Summer’s gaze drifted to the empty space beside Liam before she masked it. She had long ago memorized the rules of this table. Birth decided proximity. Desire did not. So she took the seat farthest from him—beside Lucas—her smile fixed, her nails pressing crescents into her palm beneath the table.

Madeline gestured to Lara. “Sit here.”

The seat to her right.

Logan’s seat.

A subtle shift in power.

Layla’s hands tightened into fists.

For a heartbeat, she looked ready to protest. That chair had always symbolized status—favored, trusted, acknowledged.

But when she realized she would instead be seated beside Ares, her irritation melted into calculation. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her delicate bandage as if it were a diamond bracelet, and took her place with a soft, dramatic sigh.

Lucas noticed immediately.

“How is your wound, Layla?” he asked, eyes flicking to the carefully wrapped finger she had been showcasing since she entered the dining room.

Layla lifted her hand just enough for everyone to see.

“It’s still hurting,” she said in a small, fragile voice. “But better than last night.”

“Alright, keep it from water and change the bandage later.” Lucas said.

Lucas nodded. “Keep it away from water. Change the bandage later.”

Layla’s lips pushed into a pout so perfect it could have been practiced in a mirror.

“Aren’t you going to change it for me?”

Lucas paused mid-motion—he had just picked up serving utensils, clearly intending to place food on Lara’s plate. The hesitation was slight, but noticeable.

“Oh. That…” He cleared his throat. “Ares invited us to his ranch in the South.”

Logan leaned back casually. “Mom, Dad, we’re leaving this morning. We’ll be back tomorrow before we head back to the base.”

Ares, who had been watching Lara through lowered lashes, finally lifted his head and looked at Logan.

This man is truly shameless. Didn’t he invite himself?

The word echoed silently in his mind.

“Liam, are you coming too?” Summer asked softly.

Liam hummed in vague acknowledgment.

“But didn’t you say you’d accompany Layla and me to the golf course?” Summer pressed, lashes trembling, eyes glossing over with rehearsed fragility.

Lara’s gaze sharpened.

“I did not say that,” Liam replied flatly.

“Oh Brother,” Layla cut in quickly, seizing the moment. “I meant to tell you last night, but then I got hurt, and I forgot.” She blinked, wounded innocence perfected. “You are accompanying us, right? I already promised Summer. And you always do.”

“On the premise that I’m free,” Liam said calmly.

Layla’s jaw tightened for a split second before she turned sweetly toward Ares.

“Then… can we go with you, Ares?” Layla asked, tilting her head, her tone syrupy sweet—but there was something sharp beneath it, something testing.

Ares didn’t even spare her a glance.

“No.”

The word landed clean and sharp. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

“Shay doesn’t like strangers.”

He offered no further explanation.

Layla’s fingers curled against her lap. She blinked once. Twice. The sting was instant and humiliating—dismissed as if she were insignificant.

Stranger.

A faint flush crept up her neck. She laughed softly, but it wavered at the edges.

“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “Liam, then you’ll accompany us.”

This time, there was no sugar in her voice. Only insistence.

“Layla,” Madeline said gently, though her tone carried quiet authority, “let your brother spend time with Ares and the others. Lucas has been away for so long. Let them bond.”

Layla’s jaw tightened.

“But Mom,” she shot back, eyes bright—not with tears, but with something fiercer, “aren’t I their sister? Shouldn’t I get to bond with them too? Or do I only matter when it’s convenient?”

The table went still.

Madeline opened her mouth—then closed it.

Layla wasn’t wrong.

That was the problem.

But Ares had already spoken. And when he did, it was rarely up for discussion.

The silence stretched—thick, uncomfortable.

“Enough.”

Leonard’s voice sliced cleanly through the tension. Not raised, not emotional. Final.

Utensils stilled. Backs straightened.

“Let’s enjoy our meal.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was a command.

The matter was closed.

Madeline passed a plate of omelet to Lara with quiet affection.

“Eat more. You still look like you need to gain weight.”

“Thank you, Mom,” Lara replied naturally, taking two slices.

The word fell so easily from her lips.

Mom.

Layla’s fork clattered softly against her plate.

Her mother.

How dare she?

“You’re really something, Larissa,” Layla said, smile tight, voice laced with venom disguised as humor. “Calling Mom with such intimacy in such a short time.”

“Layla!”

It wasn’t one voice.

It was three.

Liam. Lucas. Logan.

A synchronized warning.

Layla froze.

She had expected mild correction. Maybe a glance. Not unified defense.

Not this.

Her chest rose sharply. Her lower lip trembled—not delicately now, but with real indignation.

“You’re ganging up on me,” she accused, eyes shining. “You’re protecting her. You don’t want me anymore!”

The chair scraped loudly as she stood, pushing it back with unnecessary force. The performance was flawless—fragile princess wounded by betrayal.

Lucas instinctively moved to follow.

“Let her be,” Leonard commanded without raising his voice. “Finish your breakfast.”

Authority sealed the door behind Layla without anyone touching it.

Silence settled again.

Summer chewed slowly, gaze lowered, thoughts sharp.

Layla is an idiot.

She glanced discreetly at Lara.

That one… is different.

Calm under attack. Untouched by insult. Unafraid of claiming space at the table.

Summer’s lips curved faintly.

Yes.

Far more dangerous.

A worthy opponent.

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