Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Jessica bolted from the car and practically flew up the stairs, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Michael! What the hell do you want?"

Michael stopped and turned slowly.

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice as low and resonant as a cello, asking unhurriedly, "What do you think?"

That counter-question struck like lightning, illuminating every dark corner of Jessica's mind.

A terrifying, absurd possibility surfaced.

Did he know the truth about that night?

The thought drained all color from Jessica's face. She released his arm as if burned, stumbling backward, shaking her head frantically.

"I don't know! Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with me!" Her words tumbled out in panicked denial, and to Michael, that very panic was confirmation enough.

In his eyes, her reflection looked utterly lost.

Jessica's mind went blank. Every instinct screamed one word: Run.

She spun around, fumbling for her keys with trembling hands, struggling to fit them into the lock.

The metallic scraping echoed harshly in the silent hallway. All she wanted was to get behind that door, to shut him out along with every shameful memory.

The key finally slid home. The lock clicked open.

Just as she pulled the door ajar and tried to slip inside, a towering shadow surged forward.

Slam.

A large, well-defined hand shot past her, slamming the door back against its frame.

The force knocked Jessica backward. Her spine hit the cold door panel hard.

Michael's imposing frame completely enveloped her, one arm braced against the door beside her ear.

She could feel his warm breath ghosting across her chilled cheek in steady, deliberate waves.

Jessica's heartbeat spiraled out of control, threatening to burst from her throat.

She forgot how to breathe, frozen against the door, her mind stripped of all coherent thought.

In that suffocating standoff, footsteps suddenly echoed up the stairwell, accompanied by a familiar voice—bright, curious, intrusive.

"Jessica, home from work?"

It was her landlady, Thora White.

Thora was climbing the stairs with a basket of groceries. When she looked up and caught sight of the scene at Jessica's door, she stopped dead.

Her sharp, calculating eyes lit up instantly. She gave Michael an appraising once-over—taking in his tall frame and commanding presence—and her face broke into a knowing grin.

"Oh my, is this your boyfriend?" Thora's tone dripped with delight and approval. "What a handsome man! You've got good taste, Jessica!"

Jessica wanted to explain, but under Thora's suggestive gaze, the words lodged in her throat.

Michael remained perfectly still. He merely glanced at Thora and gave the faintest nod, a polite acknowledgment.

That silent confirmation sealed Thora's assumption.

Jessica's scalp prickled with dread.

This couldn't continue.

From somewhere deep inside, a surge of desperate courage rose.

Jessica lunged forward, grabbing Michael's wrist where it pressed against the door. Gritting her teeth, she yanked him forcefully into the apartment.

Michael seemed genuinely surprised by her sudden boldness. He stumbled slightly as she dragged him inside.

Jessica seized the moment. She slammed the door shut behind them with a resounding bang, cutting off Thora's prying stare and the cold air beyond.

In the dim entryway, shadows pooled around them.

Jessica released his wrist as if it had seared her, staggering backward until her lower back hit the edge of the shoe cabinet.

She gasped for air, her chest heaving violently. Her usually bright eyes now brimmed with humiliated fury—and a plea she didn't even realize was there.

"Michael, I'm begging you." Her voice trembled. "Just leave me alone, okay? Please. Stop showing up in my life!"

Michael stood motionless. He ignored her plea entirely. Instead, he took one deliberate step closer.

"You have feelings for me, don't you?"

His voice was low, flat, devoid of any questioning inflection—as though he were merely stating an undeniable fact he'd already uncovered.

That brutally direct question hit Jessica like a hammer blow.

Every façade she'd carefully maintained crumbled into pathetic absurdity.

Her first instinct was denial—absolute, desperate denial.

"I don't!" She nearly screamed it, the volume startling even herself. "Stop flattering yourself!"

Michael watched her pitiful display of bravado, and the corner of his mouth curved into the faintest, most mocking smile.

"Shouting that loudly—guilty conscience?"