If I Could Hate You

Chapter 6: Until the Rain Stops

Rain had a way of slowing the city, washing the noise into something softer. From my seat by the window, I could see the lights blurring on the wet streets, the rush of cars turning into silver streaks against the black. I had been at the gala for almost an hour, speaking with investors and shaking hands with people who cared more about appearances than the work they claimed to fund.

But I was not here for them.

I had known Sophia would be here. The moment I caught sight of her in the crowd, the night sharpened. She wore a deep emerald dress that drew every eye without trying, and though she moved with her usual composure, I could tell she was aware of me. She always was.

I waited before approaching her, letting her move through the room. She was speaking to a group near the stage when I finally crossed the floor. Her voice carried just enough for me to catch the tail end of her answer to someone’s question, and when she turned to me, her expression shifted only slightly. Surprise, quickly masked by something cooler.

“Michael,” she said with a polite nod.

“Sophia,” I replied. “You clean up well.”

She arched a brow. “I do not recall asking for your approval.”

“Then take it as a free gift.”

Her lips pressed together, but I caught the flicker in her eyes — annoyance mixed with something else. Something that made me want to push further.

We spoke for a few minutes, most of it surface level, but the undercurrent was there. Always there. When the speeches began, we drifted to opposite ends of the room, though my attention kept returning to her.

Half an hour later, the rain outside had worsened. By the time the event wound down, the downpour was heavy enough to keep people lingering inside, waiting for cars or for the storm to ease. I saw Sophia near the entrance, speaking with an elderly board member. I was about to join her when the organizer of the gala approached me with a request.

There was a last-minute issue with a donation transfer that needed clarification, and Sophia was the only one with the necessary details. The organizer asked if I could give her a ride to the foundation’s satellite office so she could access the files from there.

It was almost too easy.

I found her just as she was putting on her coat. “Looks like you are stuck with me,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“The gala’s organizer needs you at the downtown office tonight. I am heading that way.”

She hesitated. “I can call my own car.”

“In this rain? You will be soaked before it arrives.”

For a moment, I thought she might refuse just to make a point, but the thunder outside seemed to decide for her. She sighed. “Fine. Let us get this over with.”

We stepped out into the storm, the valet rushing to bring my car around. The rain was cold, seeping into the air, and I caught the way she shivered slightly despite her coat.

Once inside, the windows fogged quickly from the change in temperature. The city lights shimmered on the wet pavement as we drove, the wipers keeping time with the hum of the engine.

She kept her gaze on the window, but I could feel her attention shifting toward me more than once. Finally, she spoke. “You seem to appear whenever I least want you to.”

I glanced at her. “Are you sure about that last part?”

Her jaw tightened. “I am.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” I said.

She exhaled sharply, turning back to the glass. I let the silence stretch, knowing it unsettled her more than any argument.

We reached the office only to find it locked and the security system down due to a power outage in the area. The building’s guard explained that it might be hours before it came back online.

Sophia stared at him. “You mean I came all the way here for nothing?”

“Not for nothing,” I said. “I think you owe me dinner now.”

She shot me a look that could have cut glass. “I owe you nothing.”

But the rain outside had not eased, and the guard mentioned that most nearby restaurants were closing early due to the storm. The only option was a small twenty-four-hour café two blocks away.

We ran for it, the rain drenching us despite the short distance. By the time we reached the café, her hair clung to her face, and my jacket was soaked through. The place was nearly empty, the warm air carrying the smell of coffee and something sweet baking in the kitchen.

We took a booth in the corner. She ordered tea, I ordered black coffee. The table between us felt too small for the amount of space we kept trying to create.

“This was not how I planned my night,” she said after a while.

“You think I planned for a power outage?” I asked.

“With you, I am never sure.”

Her tone was dry, but there was less bite in it now. Maybe it was the storm, or the warmth of the café, or the fact that for once, we were away from everyone else.

I watched her as she wrapped her hands around the tea cup, the steam curling upward. There was a softness in her expression I did not often see. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but I also knew she would never tell me if I asked directly.

Instead, I leaned back. “You know, you are difficult to read.”

“Good,” she said without looking at me.

“It makes me want to keep trying.”

That made her glance up, and for a moment, neither of us looked away. The storm outside rattled the windows, and the world felt narrowed to this small corner booth.

When we finally left, the rain had eased slightly but not enough to walk without getting drenched again. Back in the car, the air between us was heavier than before.

As I drove, a flash of lightning lit the sky, followed by a c***k of thunder that seemed to shake the ground. Sophia shifted slightly closer, almost without realizing it.

“You are not afraid of storms, are you?” I asked.

She gave me a sideways look. “Of course not.”

But she did not move away.

When I stopped in front of her building, she lingered with her hand on the door handle. “Thank you for the ride,” she said finally.

“Anytime,” I replied.

She opened the door but paused. “This changes nothing.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” I said.

She left without another word, but I saw the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth before the door closed.

And I knew — this was far from over.