If I Could Hate You

Chapter 5: Perpetual Nearness

Sophia's POV

The gallery’s marble floor gleamed beneath the soft light, every polished tile reflecting fragments of the art and the people drifting between them. I tried to focus on the canvas in front of me, a storm of deep blues and violent strokes, but my thoughts kept tugging elsewhere.

Michael’s presence had followed me through the day like a shadow I could not shake. Seeing him in the car that morning had been unexpected. Accepting his offer of a ride had been reckless. The conversation had been worse — every sentence felt like stepping closer to the edge of a cliff.

And yet here he was again.

I sensed him before I saw him. The air in the room shifted, drawing my attention over my shoulder. He was across the space, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who belonged anywhere he decided to stand. His dark suit fit him like it had been made with his body in mind. He had that look — sharp, controlled, untouchable — but his eyes were on me, and that alone made my chest tighten.

I turned back to the investor beside me, forcing myself to focus. The man was telling me about a recent acquisition, his voice smooth and pleasant, but my attention wavered. When Michael finally reached us, the investor greeted him with an easy familiarity, but Michael’s eyes never left mine.

His words were careful, polite, and yet laced with something more. When the investor excused himself, the space between us felt too small.

“You look like you belong here,” he said.

“Do I?” I tilted my head, letting a faint challenge edge my tone.

Our conversation was brief, but it left my thoughts in chaos. When I turned away from him, it was to protect myself from the pull that kept trying to close the space between us.

The rest of the evening blurred. I moved through conversations, admired paintings, accepted flutes of champagne I barely sipped. But I was aware of him in the room the entire time, aware that no matter where I turned, he seemed to be somewhere in my periphery.

When the event began to wind down, I decided to leave before I did something I would regret. The night air outside was crisp, smelling faintly of rain and city smoke. I stepped toward the curb to call a car, but before I could reach for my phone, his voice came from behind me.

“Going somewhere in a hurry?”

I turned to find him standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets. “Trying to get home before midnight,” I said lightly.

“I will take you,” he offered.

I shook my head. “I am capable of getting myself home.”

“I know you are capable,” he said, stepping closer. “I am offering because I want to.”

That was more dangerous than anything else he had said all day.

“I am not sure I want to owe you another favor,” I replied.

“Think of it as settling the one from this morning,” he said.

I hesitated. The street was busy, the lights casting everything in shades of gold and silver. For a moment, the noise around us faded, and there was only the sound of my own heartbeat.

“Fine,” I said. “But just the ride.”

His car pulled up almost immediately. I slid into the back seat, the familiar scent of leather mixing with his cologne, and felt my body tense at the nearness of him.

The drive began in silence. The city blurred past the windows, lights smearing into streaks against the dark. I tried to focus on the passing skyline, but awareness of him sat like a weight in my chest.

Finally, he broke the silence. “What were you doing at the gallery?”

“An exhibition opening,” I said. “I was invited.”

“By the owner?”

I glanced at him. “Are you interrogating me?”

“Curious,” he said simply.

I took a breath. “I know the owner’s daughter. We studied together. She thought I would appreciate the collection.”

He nodded, but his eyes lingered on me. “You fit there,” he said softly.

The words were not a compliment so much as an observation, but they unsettled me all the same.

When the car pulled up in front of my building, I reached for the door handle. His voice stopped me.

“Sophia.”

I turned back.

He looked at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle he had not been given all the pieces for. “You make it very hard to stay away,” he said quietly.

The words caught me off guard. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe. I wanted to say something sharp, something that would put distance between us, but nothing came.

Instead, I opened the door and stepped out into the night. I did not look back until I reached the entrance, and when I did, the car was still there, his gaze following me until the door closed behind me.

---

Sleep did not come easily that night. I lay in bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, replaying the day’s encounters in my head. The way he looked at me. The way his voice dropped when he said my name.

This was exactly what I had promised myself I would avoid.

The next morning, I woke to find a message waiting on my phone.

Meeting at the foundation offices. Noon. I will be there.

No greeting, no signature, but I knew it was him.

---

The office was quiet when I arrived. Most of the staff were out in the field, leaving the space echoing and still. I was in my office reviewing reports when I heard footsteps in the hall. A knock came a second later.

“Come in,” I called, and the door opened to reveal him.

Michael filled the doorway like he owned it. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on me.

“I thought this was about business,” I said.

“It is,” he replied, but there was a faint curve to his mouth that suggested otherwise.

We discussed the upcoming charity gala for a while, but the conversation drifted, as it always seemed to. He leaned against my desk, close enough that I could see the faint shadow along his jaw, the way the light caught in his eyes.

“You work too much,” he said.

“And you meddle too much,” I replied.

He smiled. “Maybe. But I am right about you. You forget to breathe when you are here.”

His words unsettled me because they were true.

I stood, intending to put some space between us, but he moved at the same time, stepping into my path. For a moment, we were too close. The air between us felt charged, every sense sharpening.

Then a phone rang down the hall, breaking the moment. I stepped back, my pulse still racing.

“I have work to do,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

He looked at me for a long second, then nodded and left.

When the door closed behind him, I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding.

This was not sustainable.

And yet, I knew that the next time he appeared, I would not send him away.