Chapter 40 The Edge Of Loyalty
1187 Words
The rain had already begun to fall by the time Marnie stepped out onto the condo balcony, letting the cool wind brush against her warm skin. Manila’s skyline shimmered beneath the night clouds—alive, glittering, yet strangely distant.
Her heart raced wildly.
Not because of the storm.
But because of what had happened earlier.
Doctor Michael Co had been a storm of his own tonight—restless, intense, protective in a way that both thrilled her and frightened her. Married life with him was unlike anything she ever imagined. Sometimes soft. Sometimes consuming. And sometimes overwhelming enough that she wasn’t sure if she was losing herself… or simply falling deeper.
She didn't even hear the sliding door open.
She only felt him.
Michael came up behind her slowly, deliberately—his presence wrapping around her before his arms did. His breath warmed the back of her neck.
“You walked away from me again,” he murmured, voice low, gravelly. “Are you upset?”
“No,” she whispered, though her chest rose and fell too quickly to hide her tension.
Michael rested a hand on her waist, his touch familiar but heavy with unspoken emotion. “Then why are you trembling?”
Her fingers curled around the balcony railing. “Because… because you were too intense earlier.”
He stilled.
The wind carried the faintest hum of his frustration. Not anger—just something deep and tightly restrained.
“Marnie,” he murmured, turning her gently to face him. “Look at me.”
She did.
His eyes—dark, tired, searching—held her still.
“You’re my wife,” he said softly. “And sometimes I worry you forget that.”
She swallowed, unable to break from his gaze.
“I don’t forget,” she whispered. “But sometimes… sometimes you feel like too much. Too strong. Too consuming.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed, as though he was trying to restrain his emotions.
“I only act that way because I love you,” he said. “Because the thought of losing you— even for a moment—drives me insane.”
Marnie’s heartbeat doubled at the raw honesty in his tone.
“Michael…”
“No, listen.” He cupped her face gently. “Earlier at the gala, that man—whoever he was—he looked at you like he had the right.”
“You mean Ethan?” she asked gently. “He was only asking about the partnership proposal—”
“He was flirting,” Michael cut in firmly. “And you were smiling back.”
Marnie blinked. “I was being polite.”
His voice dropped to a deep, simmering whisper.
“Your smile isn’t something men should ‘politely’ receive.”
Her breath caught.
That possessive streak again.
It made her nervous…
But God help her—it also made her feel wanted in a way she’d never known before.
“You’re jealous,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Painfully.”
The honesty in his voice shocked her.
He stepped closer, backing her gently against the balcony railing, but his hands remained soft—one resting on her waist, the other brushing her cheek.
“I’m a surgeon,” he murmured. “People rely on me for precision and control. But with you… I lose both.”
Her knees weakened.
The air between them grew hot despite the cold rain.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in you,” he continued, voice tightening. “I don’t know how to be half-hearted. I only know how to love fiercely.”
Marnie’s breath shook. “Michael… I don’t want you to change. I just want us to understand each other better.”
His expression softened just a fraction.
“And you’re scared of me tonight?”
She hesitated.
His thumb brushed her lower lip, slow, attentive.
“Marnie,” he whispered, “tell me the truth.”
“I’m… overwhelmed,” she whispered.
He exhaled slowly, stepping even closer. “Then let me ease that. Not by force. Not by intensity. But by understanding.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
“I don’t want you afraid of me. Ever.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer as instinctively as breathing.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured. “I’m afraid of losing myself in you.”
He lifted her chin gently.
“Then we’ll lose ourselves together,” he whispered.
A shiver ran through her—not of fear, but of something warm and dangerous and painfully beautiful.
He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his chest. For a moment, all the tension between them melted in the rain, their bodies pressed close—not in lust, but in raw, aching intimacy.
He wasn’t overpowering her now.
He was holding her like she was fragile.
Precious.
Irreplaceable.
“Marnie,” he murmured, voice softer now, “promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don’t hide from me. Not your fears. Not your doubts. Not your desires.”
Her breath stilled.
His thumb stroked her cheek again, slow and thoughtful.
“If something is too much,” he added, “tell me. I won’t be angry. I won’t push you. I’m your husband—your partner. I’ll move at your pace.”
Her chest tightened painfully—relief, gratitude, love all twining together.
“Michael…” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He pulled her closer. “I’m here.”
“And I love you,” she said, her voice trembling. “But you scare me sometimes because you feel so strong. Your emotions… your love… it’s powerful. And I’m still learning how to keep up.”
His eyes softened completely.
“Then I’ll slow down,” he said simply. “Because I’d rather walk beside you than run ahead alone.”
A tear slid down her cheek, and he wiped it gently with his thumb.
“You don’t have to slow down,” she whispered. “Just… hold my hand when you run.”
He let out a soft laugh—warm, relieved, full of affection—and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, lingering there.
“That,” he murmured, “I can promise.”
The rain intensified behind them, drumming softly against the balcony. Michael lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles with reverence that sent heat spiraling through her.
“Come inside,” he whispered. “You’re cold.”
But when she looked up at him, his eyes weren’t cold at all.
They were burning—with restrained emotion, longing, devotion.
Not force.
Not pressure.
But a love deep enough to shake them both.
And for the first time that night…
Marnie didn’t run from it.
She stepped into his arms willingly.
As he guided her inside, closing the balcony door behind them, the tension between them shifted—not disappearing, but transforming into something fragile and intimate.
Not explicit.
Not rushed.
Just two souls learning the rhythm of marriage…
…one heartbeat at a time.
- Writer
