Chapter 176 Michael's Unexpected Seduction
Michael thought he was dreaming of Amelia—the woman who lived in the deepest part of his mind, the one he could never forget.
But this was no dream.
The rings they shared carried more than metal and design. Amelia had bound them with a spiritual vow she would make only once in her lifetime. Through that vow, she could sense Michael no matter the distance, and with the bond as her bridge, she could cross the boundaries of time and space, bringing her consciousness directly to his side.
The moment her presence entered the room, reality itself bent. The world beyond ceased to exist. No one could step through the invisible wall that sealed them in. It was both real and unreal—every touch, every word, every breath between them was as tangible as the air they shared.
When Michael stirred awake, Amelia leaned down, her cool fingers brushing his face.
Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "I told you to eat properly, to sleep properly. Why didn't you listen?"
Michael was caught in a haze, somewhere between waking and dreaming. He thought this was a figment of his mind, yet his body responded instinctively. He caught her hand and murmured in defense. "I did."
"I ate. I slept. And… I thought about you every single day."
To the outside world, Michael was a man of steel—unyielding, commanding. But with her, he was soft, willing to pour all his tenderness into protecting her.
"If you've been eating, why have you lost weight?" she asked.
Michael paused for barely a heartbeat. Then, without warning, he pulled her down onto the bed.
In an instant, his tall frame loomed over her, his gaze locking with hers, darker than she had ever seen. The dim glow of the floor lamp painted the room in shadows, wrapping the air in a haze of intimacy.
He straightened, fingers tugging at the belt of his deep-blue robe.
Amelia blinked. She knew how strong his self-control could be. In all their nights alone, he had never crossed the line—holding her, kissing her, but never more. Even when she teased him, he remained composed. This… this was different. Was it because he thought he was in a dream, free from restraint?
While she was still wondering, the robe fell away.
Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, skin kissed with a warm bronze. His arms were corded with muscle, his chest firm enough to bury her face in, his abdomen carved into clean lines. And lower still… the sharp cut of his hips, the kind of definition that spoke of discipline and power.
Her eyes locked on him, unable to look away.
Michael's body was a work of art, and she wanted to touch. She didn't even try to hide the heat in her gaze.
Noticing her interest, Michael caught her hand, his voice husky. "Baby… touch me."
'Well, if you insist,' she thought.
Before she could move, he guided her hand to his chest. The heat of his skin was real, the steady rhythm beneath it undeniable. He moved her hand slowly across his chest, down over every inch of hard-earned muscle. Every now and then, a subtle flex or twitch under her palm sent a shiver through her.
She had never seen him like this—deliberate, teasing. The man who usually kept his distance was now using his body as bait, as if beauty could erase her anger.
"Do you feel it, baby?" His voice dropped lower, threading through the air like smoke.
"Mm." The sound slipped out of her, soft and distracted, as she traced the ridges of his abdomen.
Then, suddenly, he caught her hand, holding it still.
His eyes were serious, almost boyish in their sincerity. "See? I haven't lost weight."
Amelia inhaled sharply.
So that was it. All this—stripping down, guiding her touch—was just to prove he'd been eating? That he hadn't lost weight? She almost laughed.
When she didn't answer, Michael bent closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Baby… stop. If you keep going, I won't be able to hold back. Even if this is a dream, I don't want to hurt you."
Her heart softened. She brushed her fingers through his dark hair, the gesture instinctive, like comforting a loyal but wounded animal.
Then she slid her arms around his neck, her breath grazing his ear. "It's fine. Kissing is allowed."
"And I forgot to say… these past few days, I've thought about you every day too."
Michael's arms tightened instantly, pulling her closer. His lips found hers, the kiss deep and lingering, their breaths mingling until the heat between them ebbed into something quieter.
When it was over, Amelia was still wrapped in his embrace, just as they used to sleep. She realized then—whether in dreams or reality—Michael only slept peacefully when he was holding her.
When his breathing finally evened out, she eased his arm away and slipped barefoot to the desk by the window.
Papers lay scattered across the surface—files on the staff at the sanatorium, surveillance from nearby roads, passenger lists from flights and ferries, interview transcripts, medical records and prescriptions for Michael's grandmother. Every page was in English, dense and unyielding.
She skimmed them, frowning. Nothing had moved forward in days.
Her gaze drifted back to the bed, to the man sleeping there, and she drew in a breath.
By the time dawn brushed against the heavy curtains, Amelia withdrew her spirit from his dream.
Back in the reality of the Martinez family estate, she sat up in bed and pulled her laptop closer. From her past life's cloud storage, she retrieved a photo—a business card.
It was entirely black, the texture rich and luxurious. In the center, a gold-embossed letter "K" gleamed, with a single line of contact information printed beneath it.