MICHELLA CADEN

CHAPTER 7

My mind was reeling as he slowly closed the distance between us. Every step he took seemed deliberate, measured, like a predator circling its prey. I staggered backward until my back met the wall, cold and solid against my spine, grounding me in reality while my heart raced uncontrollably. He chuckled softly, a low, almost teasing sound that sent shivers down my spine.

“I called you over to talk about our engagement,” he said, his tone casual yet laced with authority, each word carefully measured.

“What’s there to talk about?” I replied, trying to sound indifferent, though my voice betrayed a subtle edge of fatigue. “My parents are already taking care of everything. My mother is ecstatic as it is. She wouldn’t mind taking it upon herself to plan the entire wedding.” I let out a long breath I didn’t even realize I had been holding, hoping to steady my racing heart.

“Well, I wouldn’t want my mother-in-law to put such a burden on her shoulders,” he said smoothly, emphasizing the word “mother-in-law” in a way that made my stomach tighten.

“She will be more than willing to do so. We’re talking about fame, power, influence,” I said, my voice carrying more steel than I felt, as if stating these facts aloud would make them more real, more manageable.

He sighed and lowered himself onto the edge of a nearby chair. There was a softness in his voice now, one I hadn’t heard before, almost disarming. “You shouldn’t let your mother do all the work. You should be there to pick the things you like—the type of decorations for the venue, your clothes, shoes, makeup artist… It’s also the day of your birthday, isn’t it?”

I froze, struck by the sudden warmth in his tone. He sounded like a completely different person, a side of him I had only glimpsed in fleeting moments—someone who seemed to care. Even though the warmth was brief, it was enough to catch me off guard. For a fraction of a second, I saw a vulnerability in his eyes, a glimpse of something human behind the stoic mask.

An awkward silence stretched between us, heavy and charged. We both stared at each other, neither of us willing to look away at first. He cleared his throat, and I quickly averted my gaze, feeling exposed under his intense scrutiny.

“Well, I’ll keep in touch,” he said finally, his voice smooth, almost rehearsed, as if trying to erase the tension in the room. Without waiting for a reply, he rose and walked toward the door, his presence lingering in the space long after he left.

My chest heaved, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. “Hey!! What was that? Why are you beating so fast?? Don’t tell me you’re falling for that jerk?” I scolded myself internally, my voice sharp in my mind.

The pulse in my ears felt deafening, my heart threatening to leap out of my chest. I shook my head violently, trying to wrest control over my own body. “Control yourself, Michella. He will only hurt you. Always remember that,” I whispered to myself, forcing my legs to carry me out of the presidential suite.

I bumped into the lady who had escorted me to Andrew earlier, and I forced a strained smile. “Fancy seeing you again,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice casual, though the tension in my shoulders betrayed me.

She smiled warmly and extended her hand. “I’m Kelly, ma’am. I thought I should introduce myself since we’ll be seeing each other often.”

I hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. She was older, more composed, yet there was something about her deference that screamed respect—perhaps even fear—of the power she served. I accepted her handshake briefly, nodding politely, before she turned and walked me to the door.

As I slid into the car, my thoughts immediately returned to Kelly. Clearly, she was older than me, yet she had to address me as “ma’am” because of the authority I now held through this engagement. I let out a bitter laugh. “Power is indeed a level builder,” I muttered, sinking into the seat. “Wake me when we get there,” I added, shutting my eyes, wishing for a moment’s escape from this tangled web.

“Here we are, ma’am,” Norman’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

Since the beginning of all this—the Andrew thing—I had dreaded walking into this house. Every step I took felt like I was walking on eggshells. I spoke less, nodded more, and tried to melt into the background, becoming a muted version of myself. A shadow of the girl I had once been.

I hissed softly and rubbed my temples before stepping out of the car. As I entered the living room, I immediately noticed my mother talking with a stranger. They both froze as I walked in. My mother rose, a radiant smile plastered across her face, and the stranger mirrored her movements with equal professionalism.

“Honey, she’s your wedding planner. She’ll take care of everything—from the engagement to the wedding,” my mother said, practically glowing. I hadn’t seen her this happy in a long time, but all I could feel was a growing pit of resentment in my stomach. Of course they’re happy. They’re proud of me while I drown in misery and anger every single day.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, ma’am. Your engagement and wedding are going to be the talk of the town,” the woman—now identified as the wedding planner—said. Her tone was warm, professional, and filled with an almost theatrical cheer.

I nodded politely, forcing a smile onto my face that felt foreign. “I’ll go freshen up now,” I murmured, retreating to my room as quickly as decorum allowed. My every step felt like betrayal, like I was agreeing to participate in a play I had no desire to star in.

Morning arrived far faster than I expected. I groaned at the blaring alarm, only to realize it was the weekend. Relief washed over me in a rare, fleeting smile. I slept late into the afternoon, dragging myself into the shower to rinse off the fatigue and lingering tension. I threw on a denim shirt and baggy jeans, trying to wrap myself in casual anonymity, and walked downstairs—only to freeze at the sight before me.

“You finally decided to wake up,” Andrew said, leaning casually against the wall, glancing at his wristwatch.

“What do you want?” I asked sharply, raising an eyebrow. My guard went up instinctively, the familiar irritation welling inside me.

“You,” he replied simply, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. That same smirk, the one he had worn the first day he came into my house, sharp and unnerving.

I glared at him, struggling to maintain my composure. “We have plans,” he continued, his voice low, intimate, deliberate.

“No, we don’t,” I snapped, folding my arms tightly across my chest.

“I do have plans,” he said, leaning closer so that his breath brushed my ear. “But they’re definitely not with you.” His proximity sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, one that I refused to acknowledge.

He moved back slightly, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk, that calculating, ominous expression I had learned to dread. “Have you forgotten,” he whispered, “that you’re supposed to behave yourself until we say ‘I do,’ or your family will go bankrupt in just twenty-four hours?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself as anger and disbelief surged through me. That look—the one that said disobey me and face the consequences—was chilling, and yet I refused to let it break me.

“I don’t think I’m obliged to follow you,” I said firmly, my voice trembling slightly but carrying strength. “You don’t own me yet, so I still have my freedom until we both say ‘I do.’ If you want to meet me, make an appointment. Tell me beforehand. Don’t just show up in my house and command me around like you own me.”

I lifted my chin defiantly, staring at him with every ounce of courage I could muster. The tension in the room was thick, almost suffocating, each of us locked in an invisible battle of wills. I could feel my pulse hammering in my ears, a reminder that I was alive, stubborn, and unwilling to surrender—at least, not yet.