The welcome party

Chapter 3

Michael's POV

[You're a murderer. You think no one knows, but I do. You're a murderer, Michael. You remember five years ago? The world will know about you now!]

Horror gripped me, my mind racing with Emma's sudden return and its connection to the ominous message. Memories of that fateful night five years ago flooded back. I knew someone else probably knew about the incident of five years ago. Someone aside Emma and I knew about Bella's death. Bella; my little sister. Who on Earth would send this message?

The weight of guilt still crushed me, refusing to lift its oppressive grip. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was responsible for Bella's death. The pain of losing her was worsened by the fact that I never got to say goodbye, never got to hold her one last time.

The worst part was not being able to find her body. She was buried before I even regained consciousness, leaving me with a gaping hole in my heart. The thought of her being laid to rest without me being there to mourn her was a constant torment.

I replayed that fateful day in my mind, wondering what I could have done differently. The self-blame was suffocating, the what-ifs haunting me like a relentless ghost.

"I killed her," I whispered, the words tearing at my soul like a rusty knife.

"Mr. Smith, are you in there?" Freya's gentle voice pierced my thoughts, her concern evident. I paused, hesitating before responding. My mind was still reeling from the cryptic message that had arrived earlier.

"Are you okay?" She asked, closing the ornate door softly behind her. Her eyes searched mine, filled with a genuine concern that only served to annoy me.

"What do you want?" I snapped, my tone sharper than intended. Freya's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't back down.

"Is there anything...I should help you with?" she asked, her voice measured. For a moment, I felt like she was going to overstep her bounds.

I needed her as a pawn to secure my inheritance, not as a meddling wife.

"And what will you be helping me with if I say yes? Get my cousins out of here when you were literally the one who begged them to stay?" I paused, taking a deep breath to calm myself.

"Miss Rogers, I don't appreciate you being nosy in matters relating to me," I warned, my tone icy. Freya's eyes flashed with a hint of defiance, but she took a deep breath, seeming to collect herself.

"Nevertheless, our agreement remains," I said, my voice firm. "After six months, we'll get divorced, and we'll get what we want." I watched her, pleased that she finally understood her place.

But I knew I couldn't let my guard down. Ambrose was still out there, plotting to take what was rightfully mine. And now, with Emma's sudden appearance, things were about to get even more complicated. I needed to stay focused on protecting my birthright, no matter the cost.

"Mr. Smith, I know it's not my place, but about the sudden message..." Freya's voice trailed off, her eyes filled with concern.

"Pretend the message never came, Miss Rogers," I warned, my tone firm and dismissive. "It's none of your concern. We had an agreement; we'll stay out of each other's business and you must comply."

I snapped, ending the conversation. She had no right to know about my life, especially the secrets from five years ago. My inheritance was all that mattered.

Emma's sudden return after abandoning me five years ago puzzled me. I'd instruct my secretary to investigate while maintaining my facade.

My phone buzzed again, and I closed my eyes, anxiety spiking. Might be another threatening message; I needed to identify the sender immediately.

"Won't you at least take a look at the phone? Is it something I could help you with? I have a..." Freya began, but I cut her off.

"Miss Rogers, I think you're forgetting something," I said, my voice icy. "You don't need to act like we care while we're alone; the rule doesn't apply when we're alone."

I snapped angrily, attempting to keep my voice low. Freya's eyes blazed, and for a moment, I thought I'd never seen her that mad.

"You're cruel, you're so cruel, Mr. Smith," she spat, her voice trembling with rage.

She turned, her long hair bouncing as she exited swiftly, slamming the door shut behind her. The silence was palpable. I wondered, why so sensitive?

I picked up my phone, noticing Ambrose's name flashing on the screen. His text mocked me;

[Wow, lil bro, congrats! Sorry I missed your wedding. I'm hosting a welcome party tonight. Can't wait to meet you both.]

Rage simmered, boiling over. "How dare you make fun of me, Ambrose?" I thundered, slamming my phone onto the marble floor as the shards scattered everywhere. "Michael, are you okay?" Emma's gentle voice echoed from the outside.

I paused, frozen.

The door creaked open. Emma stood before me, her piercing blue eyes freezing my blood. She was even more breathtakingly beautiful. But I couldn't embrace her; I had to maintain the charade of marriage , at least, for now.

"You've changed, Michael. This isn't you. You forgot about me so soon," she cried, her tears piercing my conscience. I gazed at her, pain etched on my face. How dare she play the victim?

"Leave, lest my wife misunderstand" I said firmly, pretending to be strong.

"Is that really what you want, Michael?" Emma whispered, her voice shaking .

I looked away, concealing my true emotions. The truth was, I still loved her. "You have to leave before my wife misunderstands," I repeated, firmness masking my vulnerability.

Emma nodded, her eyes locking onto mine. "Ambrose's returning tonight. His welcome party's tonight, you need to be there for him," she said, her lips grazing my cheek in a gentle kiss.

As she departed, I froze. How did she know about the party? Why had Emma returned immediately after my wedding? And Ambrose ; why now, after three years in Australia with Waylen, his son?

***

Freya's POV

I wondered why Michael's arrogance and response affected me. I didn't care about him; I was only trying to help. As long as my mother's safety was concerned, we were on the same boat. If only I didn't need the money for my mother's treatment, I wouldn't have entangled myself in a billionaire's mess again.

A text from Michael flashed on my screen: "It's my stepbrother's welcome party tonight. Be ready in two hours. My assistant will bring you your dress and accessories." "He's so full of himself," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Two hours later, I stood before the standing mirror, my jaw dropping at my reflection. The red gown hugged my petite frame perfectly, accentuating my curves. Anxiety swept over me, and I closed my eyes. Why did I suddenly feel uneasy about tonight?

"Miss Rogers, are you in there?" Michael's deep baritone voice broke the silence. I swiftly gathered my belongings, composing myself. "One minute," I called out.

As I exited, Michael's imposing figure awaited me. He wore a tailored white Armani suit, complemented by a blue shirt. His hair was impeccably styled, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to claim ownership of everything they touched. My heart skipped a beat, but I braced myself; I wouldn't let my guard down. I hated them; billionaires.

"Miss Rogers," he called, snapping me back to reality. "I'm ready," I replied, my look cold and detached. He nodded.

"My cousins are still preparing. We must play the role of a perfect couple, Miss Rogers."

I nodded, resigned. I had no choice. Our hands intertwined, sparking undeniable tension and a flutter in my chest. The car ride was silent, but my restlessness grew.

"My brother can be annoying, but he's intelligent. Don't let him get under your skin. I trust you'll handle it," he said as I fixed him with a steady gaze. Was he patronizing me? I remained silent.

Before long, we arrived at the Grand Hall, a venue I never imagined I'd visit. "Shall we?" he asked, offering his hand. I folded my fist, wanting to punch him, but I didn't. I took it, our arms locking as we forced bright, fake smiles.

"Wow, it's Waylen. My nephew, he's grown so big," Michael exclaimed, his expression softening as he gazed at the boy. I wondered what kind of kid Waylen was to bring out this rare display of warmth in Michael.

I smiled, my gaze fixed on the young, handsome boy clinging to grandfather's hand. "He's adorable," I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

Michael began, "So, we have to..." But his words were interrupted by a familiar voice;

"Michael! Whom do we have here?"

"Oh, it's Ambrose," Michael said to me, his tone neutral. I turned, and my eyes locked onto the figure. My gaze widened, fury and fear igniting within. My blood boiled, simmering just below the surface.

My arms instinctively withdrew from Michael's, as if severed by an unseen force. Ambrose ; my ex-boss, the man who shattered my world and broke me, the one who destroyed me, the father of my three-year-old son.

My vision blurred, with memories of my past flooding back. My world crumbled, leaving only tension and simmering rage. What about that young child? Was he perhaps... my son?