Abigail's pov - As Jack finally exits the room, leaving us in a mix of embarrassment and amusement, Michael hugs me again. In Michael's arms, I find solace, passion, and a love that knows no boundaries. The interruption may have momentarily shifted our focus, but it has only served to deepen our appreciation for the unbreakable bond we share. With a gentle touch and a knowing smile, Michael pulls me closer, and we continue our journey, ready to face whatever comes our way, hand in hand. Michael stands up, a hint of discomfort evident on his face as he realizes he's still in a towel. With a warm smile, I suggest he go and change. His cheeks redden slightly, but he reciprocates the smile and gives me a grateful nod. I watch him with an intensity I can't deny, feeling a warmth spread through my body. It's a feeling I've never experienced before, this undeniable attraction that pulls me towards him. My cheeks flush with a rosy hue as I realize how drawn I am to his half-nude form. I neve
Michael's pov - Sitting in my office cabin, the weight of the day's meetings still lingering, I decided to take a moment and call Abigail. Concern for her well-being fills my mind, as I recall how pale and tired she seemed this morning. I urge her to stay home and rest, assuring her that I can handle everything at the office. After a few rings, Abigail's sweet voice answers on the other end of the line. "Hey, Michael. How's your day going?" I can't help but smile at the sound of her voice. "Hey, love. My day has been busy, but I wanted to check on you. You seemed a bit off this morning. Are you feeling alright?" There's a moment of silence before she responds, her voice tinged with fatigue. "I'm just a little tired, Michael. I didn't sleep well last night. But don't worry about me. I'll be fine. How about you? How are things at the office?" Her words worry me, but I trust her to take care of herself. "I understand, Abigail. Take it easy and get some rest. As for me, it's been a pr
Michael's pov - I glance at my phone and notice the time. It's already past 10 at night, and I've missed a couple of calls from Abigail. I quickly type a message to reassure her that I'm fine and that I'll be home soon. As I step out of my cabin, I realize that the office is empty, with everyone having left for the day. As I make my way through the rows of intern desks, I'm taken aback by the sight before me. A soft, warm light emanates from a table lamp, casting a gentle glow on the figure of Ema, who is fast asleep with her head resting on the desk. I approach cautiously, trying not to disturb her slumber. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I glance at the computer screen in front of her. The document displayed on the screen is titled "Fragrance of Love." My heart skips a beat as I realize that this must be the copy of the book she was working on, the one named after the scent of Tuberose. Could it be that Ema is Tuberose? A mix of emotions swirls within me—surprise, disbelief,
Michael's pov - I step into the house, my mind a chaotic storm of conflicting emotions. Abigail awaits me in the living area, her eyes searching mine for answers. Ignoring her, I make my way toward the bedroom, the weight of frustration and confusion heavy on my shoulders. How do I confront her about what Ema said? Abigail's compassionate nature and countless selfless acts make it difficult for me to question her motives, but Ema's words continue to echo in my ears, stirring doubt within me. Inside the bedroom, I forcefully loosen my tie, grappling with the best approach to broach the subject. Abigail follows me, her voice filled with genuine concern. "Michael, is everything okay? You look exhausted," she asks, her worry palpable. Without turning to face her, I shoot the question that has been tormenting me, my eyes piercing and sharp. "Who is Tuberose?" The room grows tense, and I sense Abigail's unease in her trembling response. "Why are you asking this suddenly?" she replies, her
Ema's pov - As I hang up the call with Michael, a shiver runs down my spine. The conversation with him had left me unsettled, torn between loyalty to my best friend Abigail, and the love I hold for Michael. William's presence behind me offers a temporary respite, his arms snuggling around my neck. I close my eyes, seeking solace in his embrace. His voice breaks the silence, filled with a chilling edge. "I am impressed," he murmurs, his words dripping with sinister intent. I instinctively pull away slightly, feeling the weight of his darkness grow heavier. "Thank you. Without your guidance, I wouldn't have gathered enough courage to do anything," I responded, my voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. A wicked chuckle escapes William's lips as he asks about his desires. His words send a cold shiver down my spine, knowing all too well the depths of his resentment towards Michael. "I want to snatch Michael's love from him," he confesses, his eyes burning with a malicious
Michael's pov - I sit in my office cabin, the weight of the previous night's events still heavy on my mind. Jack, my trusted friend, and confidant, stands before me, his face etched with confusion and concern. I had shared everything with him, hoping for some clarity amidst the chaos that had consumed my world. But as I recount the words I had uttered to Abigail, the disappointment in Jack's eyes is evident. "How could you say those things to Abigail, Michael?" Jack's voice holds a hint of reproach, his brows furrowing in disapproval. "Regardless of what happened, you shouldn't have spoken to her in such a manner." Frustration wells up within me, mingling with the remnants of anger that still linger. I struggle to comprehend how Jack cannot see the situation from my perspective, and how he fails to recognize the betrayal that I feel. "Jack, I understand your concern, but you weren't there," I explained, my voice laced with urgency. "Abigail's words... they cut deep. I couldn't help
Michael's pov - I sit in my cabin, lost in thought about the incident from last night. Ema, the talented writer of Fragrance of Love, had revealed in the morning that she is Tuberose. It was surprising, considering that Abigail had claimed to be Tuberose the previous night. The conflicting claims had puzzled me, but before I could delve deeper into the matter, my phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. It's my dad calling. "Where is Abigail? She didn't come for breakfast," my dad's voice rushes through the phone. "I checked in your room, and she's not there. Not even in the guest room or anywhere. The guard informed me that she left last night. It was a rainy night, Mick. Where is your wife?" Startled by my father's rapid stream of questions, I try to calm him down. "Don't worry, she's probably fine. Maybe she just wanted some time alone after our fight. It's nothing to be overly concerned about." "Just shut up! Is this how I raised you? How could you let your wife leave the house at
Michael's pov Once inside, I lay Abigail gently on the couch, her weakened state evident in her pale complexion. I cover her with a warm blanket, tucking it around her body, hoping to provide some relief from her fever. My mind races as I remember where the family doctor keeps his emergency contact information. I quickly retrieve the details and dial his number. The doctor assures me that he will arrive at our home as soon as possible. I thank him and end the call, my attention immediately returning to Abigail. I sit by her side, holding her hand, and murmuring words of reassurance. Minutes later, the sound of the doorbell echoes through the house, signaling the arrival of the doctor. I quickly let him in, and he wastes no time in examining Abigail, checking her temperature, and prescribing necessary medications. His calm demeanor and expertise bring a sense of relief to my worried heart. As the doctor tends to Abigail's needs, I find myself pacing the room, unable to sit still. I'