Chapter 122 Too tempting to resist
Moonlight spilled across the quiet room, painting everything in a soft silver glow.
Amelia's arms looped around Michael's neck, her body pressed so close that he could feel the heat radiating through her skin. His long, steady hands slid into her dark hair, now carrying the faint sweetness of alcohol, and for a moment it felt as though his breath had stopped entirely.
They were close—too close. Close enough for him to see the fine, delicate hairs along her cheek.
The pale light from the window traced the curve of her face, highlighting beauty that was almost unreal. Her eyes were hazy, deliberately unguarded, yet somehow still innocent. Every movement, every breath carried a quiet seduction, open and unapologetic.
The taut thread of restraint in Michael's mind finally snapped. In the next heartbeat, he kissed her—hard, without hesitation.
From the chair to the bed, the kiss deepened, turning into something that demanded and consumed. Their bodies tangled, the air thick with heat.
Now he understood why she had called it punishment.
When he finally forced himself to break away, his breathing was ragged. He stood, dragging in a deep breath, and made a silent vow that no other woman would ever come close to him again. This punishment was far too exquisite… and far too cruel.
"I know I was wrong," Michael said at last, voice low, "I'm going to take a shower. Wait for me."
Watching the man—confident, powerful, always in control—retreat with something close to urgency, Amelia's lips curved in satisfaction. She had chosen well. He was disciplined, never one to flirt recklessly… and yet, in moments like this, endearingly human.
When Michael returned, still damp from the shower, Amelia was sitting on the bed with a small gift box in her hands. He stepped forward, drawing her into his arms.
"What's this?" he asked.
"A gift for you," she said, holding out the box.
Inside lay two rings. The smaller was a woman's ring—its band formed by a circle of thorns, encasing a single rose set with a blood-red ruby. In the moonlight, the stone glowed with a dangerous allure, the design breathtaking in its detail.
The larger was a man's ring. Its band was shaped from two wings, folded together to form a circle. It was subtle, yet carried a weight of fate.
Before Michael could speak, Amelia asked, "Have you ever heard of the thorn bird?"
She told him the story—a rare bird with the most beautiful song in the world, a song it sings only once in its lifetime. From the moment it leaves its nest, it searches relentlessly for the longest, sharpest thorn. When it finds it, the bird impales itself and sings its one and only song.
"So… the meaning of these rings is love without hesitation?" Michael asked.
He had captured her design's essence in a single sentence.
Michael lifted the woman's ring, studying it in the lamplight before gently taking Amelia's hand. Her fingers were small compared to his, her skin now soft and luminous—nothing like the rough hands she once had from years of labor.
He bent his head, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand with something close to reverence. Then he slid the ring onto her right-hand ring finger, placing the man's ring on his own left.
"If that's the love you want," he said solemnly, "I won't disappoint you."
Their hands intertwined, the rings catching the light between them.
Half an hour later, Amelia had showered and was climbing into bed, ready to curl into Michael's arms, when her phone buzzed with a WhatsApp notification.
It was from Dorian, asking where they should set up the café for the upcoming Prestige High School fair.
Amelia skimmed the messages. Dorian was clearly invested—she had volunteered as team leader earlier that day, and now, even late at night, she was still thinking about logistics.
The school allowed each team to choose their own venue—either an empty classroom or the outdoor field. The field offered space but required full-scale staging. A classroom was cheaper and easier but limited foot traffic.
[Given how attractive our team is, the field makes more sense. Otherwise, there won't be enough room for the crowd.]
[But the field means we need décor, furniture, props, coffee machines… it's going to cost a fortune.]
[The school won't let us use personal funds. We have to get sponsorship—and write a proposal for it. Total headache.]
[We'd probably need at least a million dollars. What kind of boss would throw that much money at a bunch of high school kids for a one-day event?]
Michael, hearing her phone buzz repeatedly, leaned closer. "What's going on?"
Amelia handed him the phone and explained the Pretty Boy Café project for the school fair.
He read the messages, pausing for a moment. "If you need sponsorship, I'll have Eric arrange it tomorrow—under the Johnson Group's name. And Eric can handle the proposal."
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "You realize that makes you exactly the kind of boss Dorian was talking about… and Eric too."
"Doesn't matter," Michael said with mock seriousness. "You just pitched your project to me. As CEO of the Johnson Group, I think it's creative and worth investing in."
"But isn't this basically me using my family's money?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "I'm not giving you the money for nothing. I expect your café to advertise Johnson Group companies outside the venue. The more attention your project gets, the more exposure for the brand. That's the return on investment. Strip away our relationship and the setting, and this is a perfectly legitimate sponsorship deal."
She wasn't convinced—Johnson Group had no real need for publicity from a high school fair—but she let it go. Under Michael's direction, she forwarded Dorian's contact to Eric.
Michael took her phone, pulling her close until she drifted off to sleep.
Somewhere else in the city, a weary executive assistant climbed out of bed with a groan. Eric had learned long ago that working for Michael meant being on call twenty-four hours a day. He had been ready to refuse, but the offer was too good—double his salary this month and ten extra vacation days. No one could turn that down.
Meanwhile, Dorian lay awake, staring at her phone. Writing a sponsorship proposal meant not only selling the café's concept but detailing every expense—equipment, staffing, décor. She had never opened a business, never written anything like it. She had no idea where to start.
They would have to meet after school tomorrow to plan. Time was tight—Thursday was hours away, and the fair was next Wednesday. Less than a week to handle proposals, sponsorship, hiring, and setup.
At two in the morning, just as she was about to put her phone down, another WhatsApp notification popped up—this time a friend request.
The name read: Eric. It sounded familiar.
The message attached said: [Ms. Reid, I am Eric, executive assistant to the CEO of the Johnson Group. Our company would like to sponsor your café project for the school fair. Please accept my request.]
Johnson Group wanted to sponsor them?
In the dark, Dorian stared at her glowing phone screen, eyes wide. Sleep vanished instantly.