If I Could Hate You

Chapter 10: The Confession

The office was too quiet when I walked in the next morning. The storm had passed, the trucks were back, and the relief site was calmer than it had been in weeks. You would think I would feel relief too. Instead, I felt restless, like the silence itself was a weight pressing on my chest.

Ethan was already there, leaning back in his chair with a stack of reports in front of him. His jacket was slung over the back of the chair, and his tie was loosened, like he had been at it since dawn. He looked up when I entered, his sharp eyes narrowing.

“You look like hell,” he said.

I dropped into the chair opposite him. “Good morning to you too.”

“Do not good morning me. You have not slept, have you?”

“I slept,” I lied.

He smirked. “If you call staring at the ceiling all night with your eyes open sleep, then sure.”

I did not respond. Instead, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. My hands itched for something to do, so I reached for the glass of water on his desk. It was lukewarm, but it steadied me.

“You want to talk about it?” Ethan asked after a beat.

“No.”

“Liar.”

The problem with Ethan was that he knew me too well. He had been at my side since we were both young and reckless, since we were just two ambitious men trying to make something of ourselves in a world that chewed people like us up. He had seen me at my best and at my worst, and he could always tell when something was eating me alive.

I sighed. “It is Sophia.”

His brows shot up. “Ah. I was wondering when her name would finally come up.”

I shot him a look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I have been watching the way you look at her,” he said bluntly. “The way you follow her across a room without realizing it. The way you listen when she talks, like you are trying to memorize every word. You have been circling her since the day you met her. You think nobody notices, but I do.”

I ran a hand over my face. “Damn it, Ethan.”

“So, are you going to admit it?” he pressed.

I stared at the wall behind him, unable to meet his gaze. Finally, I said it, the words tasting like both relief and guilt. “I cannot stop thinking about her.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Ethan did not look surprised, but he did look disappointed. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

“Michael,” he said carefully, “you have a fiancée.”

“I know,” I muttered.

“Do you?” His tone sharpened. “Because last time I checked, Ayla was still wearing your ring. She is still planning a wedding, still waiting for you to come home and build a life with her. And here you are, confessing to me that you cannot stop thinking about another woman.”

I flinched. Hearing it out loud made it worse.

“It is not that simple,” I said.

“It is exactly that simple,” he shot back. “You either want the life you promised Ayla, or you want Sophia. You cannot have both. And if you keep going the way you are going, you are going to destroy them both. And yourself.”

I clenched my fists, feeling the sting of his words. But I did not argue, because he was not wrong.

The truth was, I had not thought about Ayla in days. Not really. She had called once, her voice warm and sweet as always, telling me about a charity gala she was attending with her mother. I had listened, answered her questions, said the right words. But my mind had been elsewhere. With Sophia. Always with Sophia.

I thought about the way she looked when she was focused on a task, her brows furrowed in concentration. The way her laughter came unexpectedly, quick and bright, like sunlight breaking through clouds. The way she had stared at me in the dark of that roadside station, her eyes full of questions she would not ask.

“I cannot help it,” I said quietly.

“Bullshit,” Ethan snapped. “You can help it. You just do not want to.”

I finally looked at him. His expression was hard, but his eyes were full of something else — not anger, but concern.

“You have always been impulsive,” he said, his voice softening. “You chase what you want and damn the consequences. But this is not like closing a deal or buying out a company. This is people’s lives, Michael. Ayla’s life. Sophia’s life. Yours. You cannot play with this.”

I leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. My chest ached with the weight of it all.

“Ethan,” I said, my voice low, “I do not even know what this is. I just know that when I am around Sophia, I feel… alive. Like I can breathe for the first time in years. And when she looks at me, it feels like she sees me. Not the money, not the name, not the reputation. Me. And I cannot walk away from that. Not easily.”

Ethan was quiet for a long moment. Then he shook his head slowly.

“You are treading dangerous ground, my friend,” he said. “If Ayla finds out, it will destroy her. And Sophia… Sophia will not survive being caught in the middle of this. She has too much to lose. You care about her? Then do the right thing. Keep your distance.”

His words hit me like a punch. Keep my distance. The idea alone made something in me recoil.

But he was right. Damn him, he was right.

“I do not know if I can,” I admitted.

“Then you are already in deeper than you think,” Ethan said softly.

The office fell silent again. I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the distant sound of traffic outside, the rustle of papers as Ethan shifted them on his desk. Ordinary sounds, but in that moment they felt unreal, like the world outside was moving on while I was trapped in quicksand.

“You need to figure this out,” Ethan said finally. “Before it is too late.”

I nodded slowly, though I had no idea what figuring it out even meant.

---

That night, alone in my apartment, I poured myself a glass of scotch and sat by the window. The city lights stretched out below me, glittering like broken glass. Somewhere out there, Ayla was preparing for another charity event, smiling her perfect smile, unaware that her fiancé was unraveling.

And somewhere else, Sophia was probably still working, surrounded by volunteers and supply lists, her hair falling loose around her face as she fought to hold the world together with her bare hands.

I should have been thinking about Ayla. I should have been planning a wedding, a future, a life. Instead, all I could see was Sophia’s face.

And for the first time in years, I was afraid. Not of losing control of a company or a deal, but of losing myself to something I was not sure I could stop.