MICHELLA CADEN

CHAPTER 6

I stared at him as he strode across the cafeteria, every step exuding that chilling confidence he always carried. The noise of students seemed to fade around him, the usual chatter and clatter reduced to a dull hum. Some of the girls near the tables shrieked and swooned, clutching their textbooks as if they were shields against his magnetic presence. Others literally fainted in their chairs, and I could see a few boys sneaking glances, mouths slightly agape, clearly mesmerized by him. I rolled my eyes, silently scolding them for being so overdramatic. Honestly, I’d never understood this type of infatuation; it always seemed more like hysteria than attraction.

Then, his eyes locked onto our table. “Leave,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife, sharp and perfectly cold. He didn’t even glance at the people around him, his gaze fixed solely on Jason and his friends.

“Why?” I asked, rising from my seat to meet his stare. I had to make my position clear. “You’re the intruder here, not us. You should leave.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Fine,” he replied, his tone casual yet threatening, “but first… let me have your phone.”

I took a step back, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t see any reason why I should oblige.” My voice was firm, my posture defensive. I was about to walk past him, but his cold, calculated hand shot out, grabbing my arm.

I yelped, jerking slightly, my glare locking onto him. “We need to talk,” he said, indifferent to the pain his tight grip caused. His stoicism, that infuriating calmness, only made my blood boil more.

And yet, despite myself, my stomach churned. I couldn’t explain it—the way his presence twisted something unfamiliar inside me—but I felt a strange thrill I’d never experienced before. I refused to give in to him, at least not outwardly. “Why should I talk to you?” I challenged, my voice tight with frustration. I’m not his servant. He doesn’t have the right to command me like this.

“If you keep being stubborn,” he whispered, his lips brushing the tip of my ear, “I will be forced to punish you.” His warm breath made me shiver involuntarily.

A strange flutter ran through me, a dangerous spark that I immediately recognized as trouble. I forced a smirk onto my face, trying to mask the confusion and curiosity gnawing at my thoughts. “I would love to know,” I said, leaning slightly closer, “what kind of punishment you would give me, Mr. Andrew.”

For the briefest moment, I saw it—the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. His grip on my hand tightened, and I felt the cold aura emanating from him like ice trying to extinguish a furnace. I knew I was toying with fire, but I couldn’t stop.

Finally, he released my hand, picking up my phone from the table with a casual air. “Hey! I never said you could take that,” I protested, but it was too late. He didn’t even glance at me as he slipped the device into his pocket.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally returned it to me. “I will text you the address,” he said coolly, “don’t be late.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving a trail of that icy, suffocating aura behind him.

I slumped back into my seat, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. He’s going to be the death of me, I thought, shaking my head. My pulse had yet to calm from the encounter, and the butterflies in my stomach refused to settle.

“Finally, some real drama in this school. Thanks for coming to our humble cafeteria, Michella,” Chris said with a grin as he plopped down beside me.

I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, and Jason lightly nudged him. “Don’t provoke her,” he whispered, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.

The school bell rang, and I packed up my things, ready to leave. My phone buzzed suddenly—a single notification lighting up the screen. I clicked it open, and my face fell. A new message, clear and concise:

Royale Hotel, 6:00 PM. Don’t be late.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh. Jerkface, I muttered, shoving my phone back into my bag.

As I was about to leave, a familiar scent reached me—a subtle, intoxicating mix of cologne and dominance—and I froze. There, just at the edge of my vision, was Krystal. Of course. The universe never lets me have a moment’s peace.

“Why do I always have to deal with you when I’m already in a terrible mood?” I hissed, striding toward her but keeping a safe distance.

Her gaze was sharp, inquisitive, as though she were searching for something hidden within me. “What’s your relationship with Andrew?” she asked, her voice perfectly calm, without even the slightest hesitation.

“If you’re so curious,” I replied, “why don’t you ask him yourself?” I started to walk past her, but her hand shot out, gripping my arm.

“Answer me politely when I ask a question. I hate repeating myself,” she commanded, and I felt the irritation rise like wildfire.

I smirked, tilting my head. “And I hate being annoyed more than you hate repeating yourself. Behave, princess. You wouldn’t want me leaving a very beautiful mark on your face now, would you?”

She opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it. I let out a soft chuckle and walked away, glancing over my shoulder. I understood her, in a way. Spoiled, attention-craving, and desperate for validation—her bullying was merely a symptom of her insecurities.

Time was slipping away faster than I’d like. I glanced at my watch: 5:40. A groan escaped me. s**t! My driver, Norman, wasn’t in sight, and the frustration boiled over. I dialed his number quickly.

“Where the hell are you, Norman?” I barked.

“Sorry, ma’am. I was—” he began, but I cut him off.

“Get your ass here now!” I snapped, hanging up. Moments later, Norman came sprinting, pants slightly unbuttoned, flustered beyond belief. I rubbed my temples, feeling the first hint of a headache creeping in.

“Take me to the Royale Hotel,” I commanded, climbing into the car. “And make sure we arrive in thirty minutes.”

“Wait… why am I in such a hurry?” I asked myself aloud, a twinge of unease settling over me.

“Take your time, Norman,” I muttered sarcastically, shaking my head at my own scattered thoughts.

The car weaved through traffic, and soon the grand facade of the Royale Hotel appeared. I strode through the entrance, my presence commanding attention. “I’m here to see Andrew,” I said to the woman stationed at the front desk, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Are you Miss Caden?” another voice asked behind me.

I turned to see a woman in uniform, a senior staff member, her expression professional yet curious. She had the air of someone used to commanding respect, even from guests. “I’m a senior staff member,” she explained before I could ask, her uniform subtly different from the others. “That’s why it looks different.”

“Ahhh,” was all I managed to say, still a little winded from the chaos of the day.

Without another word, she led me to the presidential suite. “Mr. Andrew is inside. I’ll be seeing you around, ma’am, since you’ll soon become Mr. Andrew’s wife,” she said with a subtle smile and walked away, leaving me standing there, my thoughts whirling, heart thundering, and hands trembling slightly as I prepared to face the storm that awaited me inside.

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