Delusional revenge

Chapter Four

After Kate got home, she received a text. “Any update on the mission? How far have we gotten? I hope you're staying the course? Don't let the past show,” Kate read the message out loud.

Then she replied, “Everything is going according to plan. He won't know what hit him.” She dropped the phone, undressed herself, and stood in front of her mirror admiring her curvaceous body. She was proud of how far she had come. Then, she stepped into the shower, took her bath, and walked straight to bed. She stared at the ceiling and began to strategize how her evening with Michael would be.

Kate stood before her dressing mirror, staring at her attire—a dress laced with pure diamonds. She was a vision of unapproachable elegance, a woman who commanded attention.

The National Theatre reeked of money and power. Michael waited for her at a special table that was designed to exhibit professionalism and intimacy. He stepped forward when he saw her and guided her to the table. His stare was unapologetic and frank.

“Your dress seems to have gotten everyone talking… impressive,” Michael said.

"You look as handsome as always, Mr. Curry,” Kate smiled as she replied.

The event was organized to perfection. The service provided by the waitresses was top-notch, and the music, and the choreography kept the audience wanting more. Michael was charming and disarming, revealing a side Kate hadn't expected. He spoke of his early days. The days he was partners with a very good friend, the struggles they had overcome, and the dreams they shared. Kate’s palm folded into a fist as he went on.

“He was like a brother to me,” Michael confessed, with a low voice. Then he lifted his glass of wine. "To Luke. May he find peace.”

Kate forced herself to drink. “It must have been difficult for you," Kate said, testing the waters, her voice soft with feigned sympathy. “To be the one who had to turn him in.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. He took his gaze away from Kate. “It was hard to make that decision, but I had to do something. Everyone at the company was looking up to me. I had to set things right.”

He explained the moment with grief written all over his face—too convincing. It was a complex narrative, not the simple betrayal she had imagined. She began to contemplate between her role and herself. She was playing the role of the sympathetic confidante, but a part of her, the weak, old Jane, was listening to his words, weighing them against her hatred.

As the night went by, Michael cracked a joke about her father–a prank her father played on him years back. Kate burst out into laughter and this time around her smile was genuine and unadulterated.

“Your laughter is as beautiful as you are, Kate,” Michael opened up with his gaze fixed on her. His dark eyes were charming.

“Thank you,” she replied. Kate changed the topic of discussion and switched back to business.

The event ended. They both walked out of the building. The cool night breeze brushed Kate’s hair, leaving it over her face. Michael reached out and gently brushed her hair to the sides of her head. The touch was innocuous, yet it ignited a spark of unintended physical contact that was electric. Kate stumbled slightly, her composure faltering.

"Careful," Michael said, as his hand found the back of her waist.

“I’m just famished,” Kate replied, pulling away. She reminded herself of the monster she came to destroy. But the man she met was charming, intelligent, and handsome. She fought an internal battle which gave her the feeling that she was betraying the memory of her parents. She was falling for the mask, and the mask was Michael Curry.

Michael proposed that he'd like to drive her to her hotel, but took a different route that led to his penthouse. It was a towering structure that made the city look tiny from the top.

“There’s something I got to show you,” he said with a voice of persuasion.

He took her to the balcony, the view from there was exquisite. The carpet of twinkling lights below, the sound of car horns, and the breeze from the trees—a powerful symbol.

Michael switched his gaze towards her with seriousness on his face. “I’ve developed a lot of trust in you, Kate. I don't trust easily, but you see things exactly the way I do.”

He stepped closer—the gap between them was minimal. Their lips collided. The kiss was powerful and confusing at the same time. The kiss was not gentle, it was a claim, a declaration of his interest. Kate’s mind was trying to protest, but her body had been starved of human connection for too long. She responded with a desperate but passionate kiss. She coiled her leg around his thigh. Michael lifted her, making her curl her legs around him.

As the romantic moment went by, she caught eyes with a photograph—a frame. It was a picture that had her father, mother, and Michael, all smiling and holding hands together. The picture reminded her of her past—the life he had stolen from her.

The photo was torn, right through her father's face. It wasn't a clean tear, but it was deliberate. In the background of the photo, a wooden box was tucked away on a shelf. It looked like a box that had secrets waiting to be unveiled.

She pushed him back. “I… I need to go,” she stammered. Her heart was racing. “What is wrong?” Michael asked.

She shook her head, pushed him further, and stepped away. Michael was left amused. “It's fine, I'll have my driver escort you home.”

Kate left the penthouse with memories of the just-ended romantic moment, the torn photograph, and the box.

The mission was still in play and the game had just begun.