CHAPTER NINE

Chapter Nine

Michael leaned against the plush headboard of the bed, his gaze fixed on Wanda as she sat quietly by the vanity. The tension from Martha’s unexpected visit lingered in the air like an unwelcome guest, casting a shadow over the morning that was supposed to be filled with new beginnings. Michael knew he needed to break the silence, to reclaim the moment that had been lost.

“Wanda,” he said softly, moving closer to her. She glanced up, her eyes guarded and distant. “I know this hasn’t been easy. The wedding, the changes, everything… I just want us to be happy. To make this work.”

Wanda offered a faint smile, though it wavered at the edges. She could feel the sincerity in Michael’s words, but the images of Anderson, the turmoil of her past, still lingered just beneath the surface. She nodded, trying to push the unease aside. “I’m trying, Michael,” she whispered, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and hesitation. “I really am.”

Michael reached out, taking her hand in his. His touch was gentle, reassuring, and Wanda felt a flicker of warmth spread through her chest. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tentative kiss. It was soft at first, a gentle press that sought permission rather than assumption. Wanda hesitated, her mind a tangle of conflicting emotions, but she found herself leaning into the kiss, the tension in her shoulders easing as she let Michael pull her closer.

The kiss deepened, Michael’s hands moving to cradle her face, his thumbs tracing soft circles against her cheeks. Wanda closed her eyes, allowing herself to get lost in the sensation—the familiar comfort of touch, the intoxicating blend of warmth and need. For a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of their shared breath, the rhythmic thud of her heartbeat in her ears.

Michael’s hands slipped to her waist, pulling her onto the bed with him. He kissed her deeply, the urgency in his touch growing as he trailed his lips down her neck, his breath hot against her skin. Wanda shivered, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she responded to his movements. Michael’s kisses became more insistent, his hands exploring her body with a hunger that set her pulse racing.

Wanda tried to relax, to give in to the moment. But as Michael moved above her, his body pressing against hers, flashes of Anderson’s face suddenly intruded on her thoughts. The memory of his touch, his angry words, the nights spent feeling trapped and powerless—it all came flooding back with a force that took her breath away.

She gasped, her eyes snapping open as panic clawed at her chest. Anderson’s face was everywhere, his voice echoing in her mind, mixing with Michael’s presence in a disorienting blur. Her hands flew up, pushing against Michael’s chest as she cried out, her voice breaking with fear. “Stop! Get off me!”

Michael jerked back, his expression shifting from confusion to hurt as he stared down at her. “Wanda, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice strained as he tried to understand her sudden change. But Wanda couldn’t find the words, her breathing ragged as she pulled away, curling up against the headboard with her knees drawn to her chest.

“It’s not you,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes as she struggled to calm the frantic beating of her heart. “I just… I can’t.”

Michael’s frustration flared, his jaw tightening as he pushed himself off the bed. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing with conflicting emotions—anger, rejection, confusion. “So you don’t want me,” he said, his voice edged with bitterness as he grabbed his shirt from the floor and yanked it on. “This whole thing, it’s just… it’s all for nothing, isn’t it?”

Wanda shook her head, but her voice failed her. She watched helplessly as Michael finished dressing, his movements brusque and angry. He didn’t look back at her as he stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding bang that made Wanda flinch. She buried her face in her hands, her sobs muffled as she struggled to make sense of the tangled mess of her emotions.

Meanwhile, Anderson paced his living room, the events of the past days playing over and over in his mind like a torturous loop. He was at a loss, his thoughts consumed by Wanda and the overwhelming need to get her back. But every time he tried to formulate a plan, it fell apart under the weight of his guilt and uncertainty.

The sound of a car door slamming outside pulled him from his thoughts. Anderson looked up just in time to see Agnes striding up the driveway, her luggage in tow. She pushed open the front door without knocking, her eyes bright with determination as she wheeled her suitcase into the foyer.

“What are you doing here?” Anderson asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he watched her march in. “Agnes, we can’t—this can’t keep happening.”

Agnes set her suitcase down with a thud, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced him. “I’m not going anywhere, Anderson,” she said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “I’m here to stay. I love you, and I’m not giving up on us.”

Anderson blinked, his shock quickly giving way to anger. “Agnes, this isn’t some fairy tale,” he snapped, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You can’t just decide to move in and act like everything’s fine. We’re not fine.”

Agnes took a step closer, her expression softening as she reached out to touch his arm. “Anderson, I know you’re hurting,” she said gently, her voice low and earnest. “But we’ve both made mistakes. We can start over, build something real together.”

Anderson pulled away, his frustration bubbling over. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice rising. “This isn’t about us. It’s about Wanda. It’s always been about her.”

Agnes’s eyes flashed with hurt, but she stood her ground. “Wanda left you, Anderson,” she said sharply. “She moved on. You need to do the same.”

Anderson shook his head, the weight of his guilt and longing pressing down on him like a vise. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I can’t just forget about her.”

Agnes watched him for a long moment, her expression hardening as she picked up her suitcase and headed towards the stairs. “Well, you’re going to have to,” she said over her shoulder, her voice cold. “Because I’m not leaving.”

Anderson stared after her, his mind reeling. He felt trapped, caught between the woman who was trying to force her way into his life and the one who had slipped through his fingers. As Agnes disappeared into the bedroom, Anderson sank onto the couch, his head in his hands as he tried to block out the sound of her footsteps above him.

Back at the luxury resort, Michael sat hunched over the bar, the dim lighting casting shadows across his tense features. He had already downed two glasses of whiskey, but the burn did little to quell the anger simmering inside him. He couldn’t shake the image of Wanda’s panicked eyes, the way she had pushed him away as if he were some kind of monster.

Lost in his thoughts, Michael didn’t notice Martha approach until she slid onto the stool beside him, her presence as familiar as it was unwelcome. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said with a sly smile, her eyes flicking to the empty glass in front of him. “Looks like you could use some company.”

Michael glanced at her, his expression guarded. “Not in the mood, Martha,” he muttered, signaling to the bartender for another drink. But Martha wasn’t deterred. She leaned in closer, her perfume filling the air between them, a heady mix of nostalgia and mischief.

“Come on, Michael,” she purred, her fingers brushing against his arm. “Remember when we used to have fun? When it was just you and me, no strings attached?” She laughed softly, the sound lilting like a familiar melody. “Those were the days.”

Michael stared into his drink, the memories of their past seeping back into his mind. He remembered the nights they spent together—reckless, carefree, driven by passion and the thrill of the moment. He felt a pull, the seductive lure of old habits and the comfort of familiarity.

“Martha, that was a long time ago,” he said, his voice tinged with resignation. “Things are different now.”

Martha tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Are they, though?” she asked quietly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re still trying to figure out what you want. Or who you want.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Maybe I can help you remember.”

Michael closed his eyes, the alcohol blurring the lines between past and present, right and wrong. Martha’s presence was intoxicating, a siren call that beckoned him back to the days when things were simpler, when he wasn’t bound by the weight of expectations and broken promises.

He knew he should push her away, that giving in would only complicate things further. But as Martha’s hand slid over

his, her touch light and teasing, Michael found himself wavering, caught in the pull of old desires and new doubts.

Martha’s lips hovered close, her breath warm against his skin. The temptation was undeniable, a dangerous thread that threatened to unravel everything. Michael’s resolve wavered, his thoughts tangled in the possibilities that lay just a kiss away.

And in that moment, the past and present collided, leaving Michael teetering on the edge of a choice that could change everything.