Listening to her captor, Layla found herself deep in thought. It dawned on her that the person before her had no real intention of killing or even seriously harming her. They just wanted to negotiate.
"I get that you want us to be 'friends,'" Layla said cautiously, tilting her head as she tried to make sense of the situation. "But why go through all this trouble? If you wanted be hidden, you could've easily taken me out after I had left here. Why this elaborate setup?"
The fake Layla sighed, folding her arms and leaning back slightly, as though explaining something to a stubborn child. "First, I needed to know how you figured out I used that car to visit the Curse Mall. Secondly, someone had to show you and your friend the consequences of poking around where you shouldn't. And lastly—" she paused, her voice softening, "—because I don't want to. Killing you would've been the easy way out. But just because something's easy doesn't make it right. Don't you agree?"
Layla blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sincerity in the fake Layla's tone. Then, with a sardonic smirk, she muttered, "Wow, lucky me. I ran into a 'good' Curse Master. What are the odds?" Her words were dripping with sarcasm, her years of training and instincts refusing to trust her captor so easily.
The fake Layla's lips curved into a thin, humorless smile. "Believe whatever you want," she said coolly, stepping closer. "But I have no intention of revealing to the 'World of Curses' what your precious C.I.B. has been up to. That said," her tone hardened, her eyes narrowing into a steely glare, "if you push me, I will take all of you down with me. No hesitation."
Layla stiffened, the weight of the warning sinking in.
The fake Layla continued, her voice calm but with an edge of finality. "The fact that I haven't already exposed your little operation and am instead standing here trying to teach you the error of your ways—" she gestured vaguely around the room, her expression unreadable, "—should be proof enough of my intentions."
"So, I'm just supposed to believe you did all this out of the goodness of your heart and want nothing in return? Fat chance. Spill it—what do you want from me?" Layla demanded, crossing her arms. The only reason she hadn't lashed out yet was because her captor's words and actions seemed genuine, but she needed more proof. Something to solidify the growing feeling in her heart that maybe—just maybe—they could be trusted not to expose the C.I.B.'s secret operation to the 'World of Curses.'
The fake Layla shook their head with a bemused smile, as if dealing with a stubborn child. "Kids," they muttered under their breath, their tone tinged with exasperation. Then, more firmly, they continued, "I've lived for centuries. I have everything I want. There's nothing you can offer me."
They paused, tilting their head as though sizing her up. "Instead, let me ask you, tell me—what do you want? Consider it a gift for finding me."
Layla narrowed her eyes, her skepticism evident. Her training screamed at her not to trust a rogue curse user, no matter how generous or honest they seemed. But despite herself, she hesitated, caught between the logic instilled by the C.I.B. and the unsettling feeling that her captor might actually be telling the truth.
Her silence didn't deter the fake Layla, who leaned in slightly, their voice soft but compelling. "I can help you become a Curse Slave."
Layla's eyes widened, but she said nothing.
"Isn't that why you agreed to help your friend? With a brilliant mind and a body that doesn't fear pain, you could've easily earned a six-figure salary anywhere—maybe even built your own empire. But instead, you stayed with the C.I.B.," the fake Layla said, their tone almost pitying.
"Even after they rejected you for the Curse Slave program, you stayed. You threw away a glorious destiny and settled for being a glorified babysitter for spoiled kids, an unknown bodyguard, or a janitor cleaning up after arrogant curse users. And why? Because deep down, you've always hoped to find a way to step into the 'World of Curses.'"
Layla's jaw tightened, her mind racing.
"I can give you that chance," the fake Layla offered, their voice low and deliberate, as though weighing each word carefully. "But there's a price. When you leave here, you'll forget all about me. You'll go straight to the C.I.B. higher-ups and report everything you and your friend did. All of it. Of course, leave out any mention of our meeting."
Layla snapped out of her daze, locking eyes with her captor. Suspicion and curiosity flickered across her face. "Why would you do that? Why help me?" she finally asked, her voice steady but edged with doubt.
The fake Layla leaned back slightly, folding their arms. Their expression was unreadable, a carefully crafted mask. "To prove to you that I want to be your friend." Their tone was calm, almost disarming, but there was an undertone of seriousness.
A moment of silence stretched between them before fake Layla added, "Whether you accept my offer or not, that's your call. But make no mistake, Layla. Actions have consequences."
Layla's gaze sharpened, and she squared her shoulders as if bracing herself. "You act like you're trying to help me become a curse slave," she said, her tone accusatory, "but what you're really doing is trying to get me to willingly embed a curse core into my heart. You want me to kill myself in the process, don't you?"
"Thereby solving your problem and covering your tracks," Layla accused, her voice rising with intensity. The sharp glint in her eyes made it clear she truly believed she had unraveled her captor's scheme.
The fake Layla blinked, their expression shifting ever so slightly—a flicker of surprise, perhaps even amusement, before their composure returned. They tilted their head, their lips curling into a faint smile.
"You've got quite the imagination, don't you? And here I thought I was the paranoid one."