Chapter 185 What's there to be angry about?
That evening, Sophia didn't go home. She spent the night with Michael at Applewood Estate.
When she woke the next morning, aches throughout her body made her temper flare. In retaliation, she punched the chest of the man beside her—not hard enough to hurt, but sufficient to rouse him from sleep.
Michael's eyes reflected the girl's disgruntled expression, and he couldn't help but smile. He pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"What's wrong? Did I say something in my sleep to upset you?"
Sophia let out a cold snort, poking at the hard planes of his chest. "Who was it that promised 'I'll be gentler next time'?"
Michael laughed at her adorable accusation. "I couldn't help it. I missed you too much."
This excuse didn't satisfy Sophia in the slightest. Even more annoyed, she hit him with considerably more force.
Last night he'd used that low, slightly husky voice to coax her at her ear—"Sophia, I miss you so much..." "Sophia, it's been so long since I held you..."—similar seductive phrases luring her into round after round.
Men who'd tasted intimacy really were beasts—given the chance, they always wanted more!
"Sophia, don't be angry." Michael lowered his head to kiss her lips. "I know I was wrong. I'll definitely be more careful next time."
"Your credibility rating is officially zero," Sophia said irritably, swatting him away before rolling over and climbing out of bed.
Michael propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze tracking that pale figure as she moved. Every inch of that snow-white skin was decorated with marks he'd left behind.
Well... perhaps he had been a bit rough.
His Sophia had such delicate skin—too easy to bruise.
After getting dressed, Sophia glanced back at Michael, whose eyes still gleamed with desire. She pressed her lips together. "Michael, are you planning to skip work?"
"As long as you're beside me, I can't bear to leave you." Michael spoke as if it were perfectly reasonable, seemingly intent on teasing her.
The girl clicked her tongue, and he quickly got up and came over to ruffle her hair. "Alright, enough playing around. I'll go downstairs and make you breakfast."
Unlike the warmth here, in a hospital room across town, Emily was clutching a bank card and fretting.
Her collaboration with John to drug Michael had been John's idea. Regardless of whether it succeeded, John had promised her a million dollars.
She'd gotten the money, but having grown accustomed to extravagant spending, Emily couldn't see how a million would last.
The Smith Manor had been seized. Andrew and John had made it clear they were leaving her to fend for herself.
The hospital bill was only paid through the day after tomorrow. Once discharged with nowhere to go, she'd be homeless on the streets. Even renting a decent apartment in Emerald City would cost a fortune, and with daily expenses on top of that, a million wouldn't last long at all.
Finding work wasn't realistic either. She'd never held a job—didn't even have a high school diploma.
To survive, she'd need to find a man.
Emily pinched the flimsy bank card between her fingertips, turning it over and over as if looking at it longer might multiply the balance.
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on her pallid face, yet unable to dispel the shadows in her eyes.
"One million dollars..." she murmured, unconsciously tightening her grip until the card's edge left shallow indentations in her fingertip.
A nurse pushed through the door carrying several forms. "Ms. Smith, your hospital bill is only paid through the day after tomorrow. Would you like to extend your stay?"
Emily's head snapped up, panic flashing through her eyes before she forced a composed smile. "Of course, I... my family will be here soon to handle it."
After the nurse nodded and left, Emily's shoulders immediately sagged.
Family? What family did she have left?
Her father was in prison. Her mother wasn't her biological mother. Andrew and John had discarded her like a used pawn.
She picked up her phone. Those so-called "friends" in her contacts had all avoided her like the plague after she'd been sent abroad five years ago.
"Damn it!" She hurled the phone onto the bed, chest heaving violently.
Then, gradually, a glimmer of light returned to her eyes.
Andrew had mentioned her secretly contacting the Johnson family... Right—why shouldn't she just return to the Johnsons?
The Johnsons had moved into that grand mansion. James was a major celebrity earning substantial income annually. Their financial situation couldn't possibly be poor.
If she could just get back to the Johnson Manor, she could live comfortably again. Why search for other solutions?
The Johnsons were all sentimental and kind-hearted folk. Play the victim a bit, apologize properly—surely they'd take pity and let her return, considering those seventeen years of raising her!
...
When Sophia pushed open the front door, a fresh lemon fragrance greeted her. She bent to change her shoes, but her fingers had barely touched the slippers when she noticed several white hairs clinging to them.
She frowned, picking up the slipper for closer inspection—undoubtedly fur from that Samoyed.
The slipper sailed into the trash bin with precision. She rummaged through the shoe cabinet for a new pair.
After changing, Sophia sighed and headed straight upstairs to her room. The moment she pushed open the door, her steps froze abruptly.
On her previously pristine beige bedsheets were several muddy paw prints. Even more infuriating, her pillow was littered with dense white fur, glaringly visible against the dark pillowcase.
Sophia clenched her jaw, forcibly suppressing the urge to strangle that dog. She spun on her heel and marched toward the room at the end of the hallway, not bothering to knock before barging in.
Lucas was wearing headphones, absorbed in his game. He whipped around at the noise, instinctively removing his headphones when he saw Sophia's furious expression.
"Explain yourself." Sophia's tone was glacial. "What were the ground rules I established with you? Snowball is not allowed in my room."
Lucas froze, clearly unaware that Snowball had entered her room. Afraid Sophia might get rid of the dog, he stubbornly defended: "Snowball doesn't understand these things..."
"Then you should control him!" Sophia cut him off sharply. When she was truly angry, the chill she emanated was bone-deep. "My bed is covered in dog hair and muddy paw prints. For him to run wild like this, clearly you never intended to manage him at all."
Lucas pursed his lips. "Sophia, it's just bedding. Change it and it's fine. If you hate dog hair so much, just hire cleaners to do a whole-house deep clean. Why target an innocent dog?"
He couldn't understand why Sophia harbored such hostility toward dogs. Snowball was adorable—well-behaved and quiet. These days, didn't everyone have pets? Yet she insisted on laying down all those rules, being so unnecessarily difficult.
This was just an accident. Changing the sheets would solve it.
What was there to be angry about?