If I Could Hate You

Chapter 4: The Dangerous Pull

Michael's POV

The city was still half asleep when I stepped out of my building. Manhattan mornings had a peculiar way of feeling both empty and crowded. The sidewalks were never truly deserted, yet there was a thinness to the air before the rush began. I liked it this way. Quiet enough for me to think, loud enough to drown out thoughts I would rather avoid.

I had not planned to see Sophia again so soon. In fact, I had been telling myself that our last encounter would be the final one for at least a week. Distance was the smartest strategy. Every interaction with her chipped away at the armor I had spent years perfecting. And yet here I was, already calculating how the day might bend toward her. It was ridiculous.

The car was waiting at the curb, engine humming like it had been expecting me. My driver gave a polite nod as I slid into the back seat. The leather was cold against my palm, and I gripped it for a moment before leaning back. There were meetings lined up from mid morning until late afternoon. Financial reports, partnership contracts, a dinner with a client who thought fine dining was a sport. None of it should have had room for her in the margins, but the mind does not respect schedules.

I told myself that Sophia was a distraction because she was dangerous. That was true. But it was not the whole truth.

The driver merged into traffic and my gaze caught on a lone figure walking along the sidewalk. Even from a distance I recognized the way she moved. Controlled yet restless. It was Sophia, bundled in a dark coat that could not hide the curve of her waist. Her hair was loose today, catching the pale morning light like it had been spun from threads of gold and fire. She was looking down at her phone, unaware that I was watching her. I felt the familiar pull in my chest, the one I had been resisting for weeks.

I should have told the driver to keep going. I should have let her vanish into the crowd. Instead I heard my own voice telling him to slow down.

She looked up at the sound of the engine. For a moment our eyes locked through the glass. Surprise flickered across her face, quickly replaced by something harder. Defiance maybe. She stepped closer to the curb, and before I could stop myself, I lowered the window.

“You are out early,” I said.

Her lips curved but not in a smile. “I could say the same to you. Do you stalk everyone you dislike, or am I special?”

“You are special,” I said before I could think better of it. The words hung between us, daring either of us to acknowledge them. She blinked, caught off guard, but her tone stayed sharp.

“I would rather not be special to you.”

“That is mutual,” I lied.

The silence stretched until I broke it. “Get in. I will drop you wherever you are going.”

Her brow arched. “You think I am foolish enough to get into your car?”

I leaned an elbow against the open window, letting my eyes travel over her face. “I think you are curious enough.”

She hesitated, and for a second I thought she might walk away. Then she opened the door and slid in beside me, the scent of her perfume filling the space. Something warm and floral, laced with a note I could not name. I told myself it was just a smell, but my pulse disagreed.

She kept her distance on the seat, crossing one leg over the other. “I have a meeting,” she said, “and only because I do not feel like walking the rest of the way will I accept your ride.”

I nodded toward the driver, who pulled away from the curb. “Where to?”

She named an address and I knew instantly what building it was. An art gallery owned by one of the few people in Manhattan who could rival my reputation for ruthlessness. I had to bite back the instinct to ask why she was going there.

We rode in silence for a few blocks. I could feel her glancing at me from the corner of her eye. Finally she spoke. “You are quieter than usual. Should I be concerned?”

“You should always be concerned when I am quiet,” I said.

She gave a low laugh, the sound unexpectedly intimate in the enclosed space. “You think you are dangerous, Michael. I think you are just lonely.”

Her words were sharper than they seemed. I looked at her fully now, taking in the steady gaze that met mine without flinching. “Lonely is not the right word,” I said slowly. “Selective, maybe. I do not let people close because they usually disappoint me.”

“And you already decided I would disappoint you.”

“I decided you would destroy me,” I said.

The air shifted between us. I could see her chest rise with a slow breath, like she was weighing whether to challenge me or let the words hang. She chose the first. “Then maybe you should avoid me, instead of offering me rides.”

“I am considering it,” I said, even though we both knew I would not.

The driver pulled up to her destination. She reached for the door handle, then paused. “Whatever you think you are protecting yourself from, it is not me you should be afraid of.”

Before I could reply, she was gone, walking toward the gallery entrance with that same measured stride. I watched until the doors swallowed her whole, then leaned back in my seat.

For the rest of the morning, her voice stayed in my head.

---

It was late afternoon when I saw her again. This time it was not by chance. The gallery owner had sent me an invitation earlier, and I had told myself it would be business. But when I walked into the room, my eyes went straight to her.

She was standing near a large canvas, speaking with a man I recognized as an investor from London. Her laugh floated across the space, warm and easy, and I felt an unfamiliar surge of jealousy. She looked different now, more polished, her hair pinned back to reveal the graceful line of her neck.

Our eyes met across the room. She held my gaze for a heartbeat before turning back to the man. I made my way toward them, weaving through the crowd with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to command a room.

“Mr. Hale,” the investor greeted me, shaking my hand. I barely acknowledged him before my attention returned to Sophia.

“I did not know you were in the art world,” I said to her.

“There are many things you do not know about me,” she replied.

I stepped closer, close enough to catch the subtle shift in her breathing. “I am willing to learn.”

Her lips parted, but before she could answer, the investor excused himself. We were alone, though the room buzzed around us.

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

“Do I?” She tilted her head. “I thought you saw me as someone out of place in your world.”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

She smiled faintly, though it did not reach her eyes. “Or maybe you were right and just do not want to admit it.”

I wanted to touch her. I wanted to see if the heat between us was real or just the product of too many charged conversations. But I settled for leaning in, my voice low enough that only she could hear.

“You keep making me want to find out,” I said.

She looked at me for a long moment, then turned away, leaving me with the unsettling certainty that I was the one being pursued, even as I chased her.