I think I love Michael Smith

Chapter 17

Freya's POV

I slowly lowered the phone, my eyes locked on Michael's piercing gaze. "Mr. Smith, you need to leave," I said wearily, struggling to maintain my composure.

He wasn't supposed to know about the call. Ambrose's words still echoed in my mind, and I couldn't let Michael suspect anything.

But Michael's expression remained unyielding. "No, you'll come with me to the mansion," he commanded, his voice firm and authoritative.

My demeanor shifted, as anger bubbled inside me. How dare he dictate what I should do? I clenched my fist, a silent prayer whispering through my mind for Waylen's safe return.

"I refuse to abide by your terms, Mr. Smith," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "We had a deal, Rogers. And you will not default. I thought we understood each other." His words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

I looked away, swallowing hard, as the weight of my situation threatened to crush me.

"Mr. Smith, I...I just can't," I whispered, averting my gaze. His piercing blue eyes seemed to hold a million unspoken emotions.

"Why, Rogers?" Michael pressed, his voice low and urgent. "It's just six months. We can't let Ambrose's suspicions get the better of us."

My face fell, and I felt a pang of guilt. But the truth was, Ambrose's name always summoned the ghosts of my past. How could I confess to Michael that Ambrose was my ex? Our marriage had been a sham, but Michael would never understand.

As Michael began to speak, I cut him off, my voice sharp. "Forget what my mother said. It's irrelevant."

I turned away, gazing out the window as the day darkened. The thought of Waylen alone and vulnerable was suffocating. My eyes drifted to my cell phone, the ticking clock a cruel reminder of the passing time.

Michael's words cut deep, a sharp knife stabbing my heart. "You're not the only one suffering, Rogers. Everyone's been through hardship. Why act like life's cruelty is unique to you?" His tone was harsh, devoid of emotion.

I glared at him, my gaze aching with pain. "You don't get to say that to me," I whispered, trying to sound confident despite the cracks in my voice.

Michael's expression remained unyielding. "I've been hurt too, Rogers. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not asking for your love or commitment. I just need you to uphold your end of the bargain. Return to the mansion, and we'll consider the debt paid." His voice was firm, unrelenting.

I tried to hold on to my emotions, but they slipped through my fingers like sand. I broke down, tears streaming down my face as the weight of Michael's words crushed me.

"What!" I whispered, my eyes widening in outrage as I stared at him. But, as usual, his expression remained impassive, a mask of emotionlessness that sent a shiver down my spine. He wasn't different from Ambrose, I thought bitterly. Falling in love with a man like this would only lead to more misery.

My hand folded into a fist as I struggled to contain my anger. "Your mother..." he began, but I cut him off, my voice rising in indignation.

"You don't get to tell me what to do. You don't get to order me around. How dare you, Michael!" I exclaimed, my eyes blazing with fire and wrath. I took a step closer to him, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Did you think I actually enjoyed my stay with you those days?" I spat, the words tumbling out of my mouth. "It was hell, a prison that suffocated me. I had to do things that I'd promised myself I'd never do again."

I glared at him, my voice dripping with venom. "I'm not expecting you to love me, because I couldn't love you either. You're just not my type," I said, the words hanging in the air like a challenge.

I fired my words at him, and for a moment, he looked shocked, surprised by my audacity. I guessed no one had ever confronted him like that before. I couldn't bear to watch him order me around, treating me like a pawn in his game.

Michael regained his composure, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Brilliant. It's amazing to know that you understand the deal won't be compromised. And it's great to hear that we're not each other's type. Then, there's nothing to fear, Rogers." His words were laced with sarcasm, and somehow, I felt disappointed that he didn't react the way I wanted him to.

I didn't cry, but I felt hurt, like a deep wound had been reopened. It felt like I'd wanted him to see me as a woman he could fall for, to desire me, to love me. But that was just a foolish dream.

My gaze drifted to my phone, and as if fate was conspiring against me, a message flashed on the screen:

[He still isn't found. Get here if you still want me to regard you as my son's mother]. My composure began to crumble, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of despair.

I'd had too much for one day. My mother was sick, and I could sense her hatred towards me. The man I wanted didn't even notice me. And my only child was missing. The weight of it all was suffocating me.

"Michael..." I whispered, his name trembling on my lips for the first time, filled with a desperate longing. I yearned for a friend, a confidant, a shoulder to cry on. Just for today, I needed him to be there.

But Michael's response was emotionless "Have you decided?" he asked, his voice firm, unmoved by my evident distress.

I felt a pang of hurt, realizing he was only concerned about his own interests, his inheritance. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I closed them tightly, unable to respond.

Michael misinterpreted my silence. "I think you've finally decided. Get in the car, Rogers. Let's get out of here. It's late and freezing. Don't worry about your mother; my secretary will take care of her." His words were laced with a sense of finality as he took a few steps forward.

But his approach was halted by the sound of my quiet sobs. I've reached my limit, and I couldn't hold back my tears any longer.

"Rogers, you know you don't have to..." Michael trailed off, his voice laced with concern.

"Please..." I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Michael's expression softened as he turned to face me, taking steps back to bridge the distance between us. "Hey, Rogers. Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I wanted to reveal the truth, to explain why I wanted to escape, but fear held me back. What if he hated me? He already seemed to, but what if...? My mind racing, I watched as Michael closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts before opening them again.

"It's fine, Rogers. I'll revoke the contract if you really don't want it," he said, his words and face etched with hurt. "I guess I'll have to face the consequences of my actions. I'll be fine." He forced a smile, but it only made my heart beat faster.

I knew what would happen if he revoked the contract; Ambrose would inherit everything. No way. I watched in desperation as Michael tried to withdraw from me, my reflexes kicking in as I grasped his hand, holding on as if begging him not to leave.

"Rogers..." Michael said, his eyes narrowing in confusion as I stared back at him. But the truth was, his words had unleashed a new wave of fear within me.

"You don't get me," he continued, a forced smile spreading across his face. "What I meant was... you can continue being yourself. I'm letting you free from the contract. You don't have to work tirelessly to pay me."

But his words brought me no solace. The contract was never the source of my fear. Michael's attempt to reassure me only seemed to widen the gap between us.

"Freya Rogers will be okay," he whispered, his voice soft and gentle as he tried to pry my hand loose. But I held on tight, refusing to let him go.

"Rogers," he said again, his voice laced with a hint of surprise. But I couldn't help myself. I didn't want him to leave ; never. Tears streamed down my face, and I felt no shame in crying in front of him. In fact, I yearned for him to be there, to console me whenever I needed him.

Lost in thought, I felt Michael's hand drift from mine to my wet cheeks. I trembled slightly, but he didn't stop. He wiped away my tears slowly, his eyes locked on mine with a look that seemed almost...tender.

Before I could process my thoughts, his lips brushed against mine. I tried to pull away, but he held me firm. His kiss was gentle, yet pressing. I felt my resistance melt away as I placed my hands on his back, deepening the kiss.

Our lips moved in perfect sync, sending shivers down my spine. For a fleeting moment, my sorrows disappeared, and I clung to the fact that perhaps love was what I needed to get away from my misery. Only love could heal a broken heart.

Did he feel for me too? Was he...before I could complete my thought, Ambrose's call broke the spell. I stared at the screen, then back at Michael's gaze. In that instant, I realized my true feelings; I think I love Michael Smith.