If I Could Hate You

Chapter 19 - Sophia

The day of the press conference came faster than I expected. For days, I had been forcing myself not to think about Michael, about his coldness, about the phone call where I caught him spying on me like some fragile porcelain doll. Every time my mind went there, I shook myself back into focus. This was not about him. This was about the company. This was about me proving myself in front of the world.

The FitzGerald and Co. headquarters buzzed with tension. Cameramen and reporters filled the lobby. Security was doubled at the doors, and a long red rope kept the press in line as they waited to be escorted into the conference room. Inside, everything gleamed, from the polished mahogany tables to the sharp suits worn by the board.

My chest felt tight as I adjusted the notes in front of me. My hands were sweating, though I told myself I had nothing to be nervous about. I had prepared every answer, every contingency. Michael sat a few seats away from me at the long table, wearing his usual perfectly tailored suit. His posture was stiff, his expression unreadable, as if carved from marble. He looked like the picture of composure, but I knew better. Beneath all that ice, there was fire.

Our eyes met once for the briefest second before he looked away. Cold, distant, disciplined. It hurt more than I wanted to admit.

“Ready?” whispered Ethan, who sat on Michael’s other side, leaning forward slightly to look at me.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I muttered.

The doors opened. Reporters filed in, cameras flashing like lightning. The room filled with the constant clicking and buzzing of recorders, the shuffle of papers, and the hum of anticipation.

Michael stood first, commanding the room without saying a word. “Good afternoon,” he began, his voice low and steady. “On behalf of FitzGerald and Co., I want to thank you for being here today. We understand the concerns the public has had after the tragic incident at our construction site last week. We will be addressing those concerns today and presenting our next steps.”

Then, as planned, he gestured to me. “Miss Sophia Bennet, our communications lead, will begin.”

I stood, the weight of every camera and pair of eyes pressing against me. My stomach fluttered, but I reminded myself of my father’s voice in my head: Stand tall. Do not falter.

“Thank you,” I began. “We want to start by honoring the memory of our colleague who lost his life. This press conference is not only to address concerns but also to serve as a memorial of sorts. Out of respect for his family, we delayed this conference by a week. During that time, FitzGerald and Co. has made a large compensation to his loved ones and has ensured their needs will be taken care of.”

The room stilled. Reporters glanced at one another, pens poised.

I continued, “We understand that safety concerns have been raised. We want to assure you that we have implemented new safety measures, including round the clock surveillance cameras, additional security personnel stationed at every corner of our sites, and earlier closing times for staff to ensure no one is left vulnerable. FitzGerald and Co. will stand united, stronger, and more protective of its people than ever.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Someone clapped. Then another. Soon, a small wave of applause broke out.

I glanced briefly at Michael. For a moment, his cold expression faltered. Pride flickered in his eyes, just for a second, before he masked it again.

Then the questions came.

“Mr. FitzGerald,” a reporter from The Times spoke first. “Do you take personal responsibility for the incident that happened?”

Michael leaned forward, voice even. “As the acting head of this company, responsibility always falls on my shoulders. Which is why I am ensuring that this never happens again. We have taken immediate action, and we will continue to prioritize safety above all.”

Another reporter chimed in. “Miss Bennet, why the decision to delay the conference by a week? Was the company hiding information?”

I kept my expression calm. “Not at all. We delayed to give the family space and respect. Grief is not a spectacle. It was important to us that before we spoke to the world, we honored the person we lost.”

They scribbled their notes, some nodding, others raising eyebrows.

Then came the question I had been dreading.

“Michael,” a woman from a glossy magazine said, “there have been pictures circulating of you and Miss Bennet. Some have suggested a romantic relationship. Can you clarify what exactly is going on between the two of you?”

The room erupted in whispers and clicks. My chest constricted, and I froze, every nerve on fire.

But Michael did not hesitate. He leaned toward the microphone and said with sharp precision, “Those photographs show nothing more than a distraught colleague comforting another during a very traumatic moment. That is all. Miss Bennet and I share a professional relationship built on mutual respect. Anything else is mere speculation.”

The speed of his response was almost jarring. His tone left no room for doubt, no cracks to peer through.

I forced my face into neutrality, but inside, my thoughts twisted. Was that all we were? Coworkers and nothing more? Maybe that was all it could ever be.

The conference continued. Question after question. We parried them all with carefully chosen words. When it finally ended, a flood of relief washed through me. Cameras dimmed. Reporters packed up.

Michael stood, thanked the press, and without another look at me, walked out surrounded by security. He had played his part flawlessly. I had too. But something in my chest ached at how quickly he dismissed the idea of “us,” as though it were unthinkable.

I left the building, stepping into the cool air. My phone buzzed. It was my father.

“Come meet me,” he said. His voice was stern. “The cafe down the street.”

My heart tightened. When my father used that tone, it meant trouble.

I walked quickly, nerves prickling. The cafe smelled of roasted coffee and fresh pastries when I stepped inside. My father sat at a corner booth, his suit slightly wrinkled, his expression grim.

I slid into the seat across from him. “Dad—”

He cut me off. “I told you to stay away from the Fitzgeralds. And now you are doing press conferences for them? Do you want to get yourself killed?”

My jaw clenched. “Dad, it is pure speculation that they are linked to the mob. You know how people love rumors.”

“I do not care about rumors,” he snapped. “I care about you. You will resign. Tonight.”

“No.” The word left me before I could stop it. My voice was firm, steady. “This job is huge for my career. You know me, Dad. You know how stubborn I am when it comes to my goals. I am not leaving.”

He leaned back, eyes dark. “Sophia—”

“I survived without a mom,” I said, my voice rising. “I survived with a busy dad who was barely home. I grew up alone, Dad. And I still made it. I am not a child anymore. I can take care of myself now.”

His shoulders sagged. The fight drained from him, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable. His voice softened. “You are all I have in this world, Sophia. You will always be my little princess. I just want to keep you safe.”

My throat tightened. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I know. But I have to do this. For me. For my career. And I promise, I will be fine.”

He sighed, then smiled faintly. “You are just like your mother. Stubborn as a mule.”

Tears pricked my eyes. “I miss her.”

He nodded slowly. “Me too. This feels like the old days, does it not? Me, you, and your mom. Getting doughnuts, you with your milkshake mustache. We called you Alexander Hamilton.”

I laughed through the lump in my throat. “Founding father, huh?”

He chuckled. “Yes. My little Hamilton.”

My phone buzzed again. A text from Nat: Come home now. I need your help. Date with Shane. Emergency.

I sighed, then stood. “Dad, I have to go. Nat needs me.”

He rose and kissed my forehead. “Tell her I said hello. And be safe, my princess.”

I hugged him tightly before rushing out. My heart felt heavy and light all at once. Heavy from the weight of his worry, light from the love we shared.

And as I walked home, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, the press conference had not only been about protecting the company. Maybe it had been about protecting me too.