Chapter 87
Chapter 87
She bit down hard on her lower lip, nails digging crescents into her palms. Tears burned hot behind her eyes, but she forced them back with sheer stubborn will.
She had no choice.
In the middle of this standoff, Thora—the landlady—pushed through the small crowd, arms laden with fresh groceries from the market.
She took in the bustling scene, then glanced between Jessica and Michael, eyes lighting up with sudden understanding.
"Oh, Jessica! I was just trying to call you—so your boyfriend's renovating the place for you! How sweet!"
Thora stepped forward and gave Jessica's shoulder a friendly pat, her tone dripping with the wisdom of someone who'd seen it all. "Jessica, honey, let me tell you—men like this don't come around every day. You'd better hold on tight."
"Thora, I—" Jessica started, but Michael had already taken a beautifully wrapped gift box from Justin and stepped forward with flawless courtesy.
"Thora," he said smoothly, offering the box with that impossibly polite smile. "Just a small token of appreciation. Thank you for looking after Jessica."
Thora accepted the box, hefting its considerable weight with visible delight. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as her smile widened.
"Oh, you're too kind! Jessica, you're one lucky girl!"
She beamed at Jessica, then leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. "All right, all right, I'll leave you young people to it. Take your time!"
With that, she practically floated upstairs, humming cheerfully, her "hush money" securely in hand.
Jessica watched her go, then turned back to Michael's unreadable expression. It felt like someone had stuffed cotton into her chest—she couldn't breathe.
She stood there like a puppet on strings, watching the workers come and go, dismantling everything familiar and replacing it with things that were new. Expensive. Foreign.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its last golden rays through the window, the transformation was complete.
What had been a cramped, shabby rental apartment now looked like something out of a home décor magazine. Fresh coats of warm off-white paint. Sleek Scandinavian furniture. A plush gray wool rug in the living room. The bedroom now boasted a sturdy, king-sized bed—a definite upgrade from the single that had collapsed under them last night. Even the kitchen had been overhauled, the fridge stocked with fresh groceries she'd never bought.
Michael stood in the center of the renovated living room, coat draped over one arm, still in his crisp uniform.
He looked at her, those ice-blue eyes carrying something she couldn't quite name. Almost like... hope.
"Well?" His voice was steady. "Anything you don't like?"
Jessica looked around slowly. This wasn't her apartment anymore. It was Michael's territory, stamped with his presence in every detail. Every piece of new furniture, every inch of fresh paint—it all screamed ownership. Like he'd erased every trace of the life she'd built here and replaced it with something of his own design.
A hollow feeling settled in her chest. Like being caged.
"Don't like it?" Michael asked again, quieter this time.
Jessica took a slow breath, forcing down the bitterness rising in her throat.
She walked over to the display cabinet, fingers brushing the edge of an expensive porcelain tea set she'd never asked for.
"Chief Sullivan." She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. "I don't like owing people. Especially not money. I'll make a list of everything—furniture, paint, labor—and I'll pay you back. Every cent. It might take a while, but I will."
Michael's expression darkened instantly.
He closed the distance between them in three strides, that overwhelming presence of his crashing over her like a wave. He caught her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up.
"Jessica," he said, voice dangerously low. "Are you seriously trying to keep a running tab with me?"
"It's not about keeping tabs. It's about principles." Her voice shook, but she held his gaze. "I don't want to owe you."
He stared at her for a long moment, something cold and unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, slowly, he released her.
"Fine." The word was clipped. "Do whatever you want."
He glanced at his watch, brow furrowing slightly. "You've got twenty minutes before your shift starts. Planning to show up late looking like that?"
Jessica's eyes went wide. Shit.
She grabbed her bag and bolted toward the door.
"Damn it—I'm never going to make it!" She fumbled for her phone, pulling up a rideshare app, only to be greeted by a queue number in the triple digits.