If I Could Hate You

Chapter 20- Michael

The applause still rang in my ears even after the microphones had been turned off, the cameras tucked away, and the reporters scattered like vultures that had gotten their fill for the day. We had done it. Sophia and I had handled every single question with precision, almost like we were orchestrating a symphony. She had been perfect. Too perfect. Her composure, her quick wit, her ability to breathe life into every word. It rattled me more than it impressed me, because it reminded me again of the one thing I had been fighting to suppress.

I walked out of the conference hall, past flashing cameras and bodyguards forming a wall around me, into the awaiting black car. The door shut, cutting off the chaos outside, but inside me the storm was far louder.

I leaned my head back against the leather seat, loosening my tie as the driver pulled away. My chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. Maybe this was it. Maybe I had to cut her off once and for all. For my empire, for my fiancée, for my family’s legacy. For Ayla, who had done nothing wrong but love me with quiet patience. That was the responsible choice. That was the safe choice.

But all I kept thinking about was Sophia.

Her voice, her stubbornness, the way her eyes refused to bow even under pressure. She was a hurricane I had let into my carefully constructed world, and now I was paying the price.

"If I could just hate her," I muttered under my breath. My voice cracked in frustration. "If I could just look at her and feel nothing… it would be so much easier."

But no matter how many times I told myself that, the truth hit me harder: I could not hate her. I could not even pretend to.

I sighed heavily, rubbing my temples. I felt cursed, shackled by an emotion I had no right to feel. Love was a weakness in my father’s eyes, and in mine it felt like a noose tightening with every passing day.

The car rolled up to the mansion, the iron gates parting like silent guardians. I stepped out quickly, ignoring the greetings of the staff, and headed straight into my study. My safe space. My prison.

The walls were lined with books and heavy curtains, the desk neatly arranged, but the only thing that caught my attention was the crystal decanter gleaming under the lamplight. Whiskey. I poured myself a glass, the amber liquid swirling before I downed it in one go.

The burn in my throat was sharp, but it numbed me. I poured another. And another.

I had barely settled into the armchair when I heard a knock on the door.

"Who’s there?" I called out, my voice rougher than I intended.

There was a pause, then a familiar voice replied, "Not the taxman, if that’s what you’re worried about."

I let out a short laugh despite myself. "Ethan. Get in here."

The door opened and my best friend stepped in, his suit still sharp from the day’s work. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the half-empty decanter on the table.

"Whoa," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Whiskey? You never drink whiskey. The last time you drank whiskey was… what, college? That night you tried to out-drink me and ended up singing Sinatra to the neighbors’ dog?"

I groaned, rubbing my face. "Do not remind me."

He chuckled and dropped into the seat across from me, loosening his tie. "So, what’s the occasion? Or should I say, what’s the disaster?"

I looked at him, the man who had been my brother since we were children, the only one who could strip away my walls without even trying. And then, before I could stop myself, the words spilled out.

"It’s Sophia."

Ethan leaned back, lips twitching as if he had been expecting it all along. "Ah. And here I thought you were going to say the stock market crashed."

"I am serious," I snapped, then sighed. "She… she has me tied up in knots, Ethan. I cannot think straight around her. I cannot breathe without thinking about her. And it is wrong. It is so damn wrong."

He tilted his head. "Because of Ayla?"

"Because of everything," I said, slamming the glass down harder than I intended. "Because of Ayla. Because of my father. Because of this empire I am supposed to uphold. And yet every time Sophia is in the room, every time she looks at me, I forget all of that. I forget who I am supposed to be."

Ethan was quiet for a moment, studying me. Then he sighed. "Michael, you already know the answer."

"I do not want the answer," I said bitterly. "I want a way out. I want someone to tell me that it is fine to feel this way. That it is fine to let myself—" I cut myself off, shaking my head. "But I cannot. I cannot let myself love her."

The room fell silent except for the faint clink of ice in my glass.

Ethan finally leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Listen to me. You are engaged to Ayla. A good woman who trusts you. You are heir to one of the most powerful families in the country. You cannot throw all of that away because your heart decided to go rogue. You need to put up walls, Michael. You need to protect yourself. Protect her. Because if you fall too deep with Sophia, the fallout will destroy more than just you."

I closed my eyes, swallowing the ache in my chest. "I know. But it feels impossible."

"Then make it possible," he said firmly. "You have always been stubborn. Use that stubbornness now. Fight it."

We sat there for hours, drinking, talking, laughing at old memories. For a moment, it felt like we were boys again, sitting under the stars, dreaming about the future without realizing how heavy the crown would be once it landed on my head.

The laughter died down when my phone lit up on the desk. My father’s name flashed across the screen.

Ethan glanced at it, then at me. "You going to take that? You look drunker than a sailor on leave."

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to fix myself up. "Do I look drunk?"

He burst out laughing. "You look like hell, my friend. But sure, go ahead. Fool him if you can."

I straightened my posture, grabbed the phone, and swiped. "Father."

His voice came through, gravelly and commanding as always. "Michael. Good work today. The press conference went smoothly. And Sophia… very impressive. You made the right call keeping her on the project."

"Yes," I said quickly, the words slurring slightly before I corrected myself. "I mean, yes, I agree. Very effective strategy."

There was a pause on the other end. "Are you drunk?"

"No," I said too quickly, forcing a laugh. "Just… pulling a prank on you. Loosening up after the day. That is all."

He let out a low hum, unconvinced but moving on. "Fine. There is something else. A very important business partner and potential investor is arriving in Manhattan tonight. I want you to handle him personally. Make sure he feels valued. Make sure he signs."

My grip tightened on the phone. "And you are telling me this now? Why was I not informed earlier?"

"I did not want to burden you," he said, his voice growing harsher. "You had enough on your plate with the incident, the scandal, the conference. But now, I see you are capable. You are ready."

I clenched my jaw. "Fine. I will handle it."

There was a rustle on the line, and then my father’s voice dropped. "I also had something else on my plate."

The camera flipped, and suddenly I was staring at an image that froze the blood in my veins. A head. A decapitated head placed on a silver platter, its lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

I lurched back in my chair. "What the hell—"

"Do not lose focus," my father cut in coldly. "This is almost over. I will be back soon, once the loose ends are tied. You understand?"

"Yes," I forced out, my chest tight.

The call ended.

Ethan was staring at me, his face pale. "What did you just see? You look like you saw a ghost."

I swallowed hard, my throat burning. "Nothing. It was nothing. I just need sleep."

He narrowed his eyes but did not press. Instead, he stood. "It is six in the evening. You cannot already be calling it a night."

"I am wiped," I said, standing shakily. "Are you staying over?"

He shook his head with a smile. "I have a beautiful wife and child waiting for me. I am not crazy enough to miss bedtime stories."

We shared a tight hug, a brother’s embrace.

"Take care of yourself, Michael," he said before leaving.

When the door shut, I was alone again. Alone with the shadows, the whiskey, and the thoughts clawing at my mind.

My father was a ruthless man. A man who ruled with blood and fear. And I… I was his heir.

Maybe keeping Sophia away was not just best for me. Maybe it was best for her. Because if she stayed too close, if she became too much a part of my world, she would not survive it.

I collapsed into bed, thoughts spinning in endless circles, until sleep finally dragged me under.