Chapter 6: Stolen Hours
1247 Words
Dawn crept through the heavy curtains like a thief, pale light spilling across the tangled sheets. Mica stirred, eyes burning from a night without sleep. A soft pressure brushed her forehead—a kiss, warm and familiar.
She opened her eyes.
Ann lay beside her, dark curls spilling over the pillow, smiling that quiet, heart-stopping smile.
Mica’s breath caught. “Thought I wouldn’t see you again anytime soon,” she whispered, voice rough with exhaustion and relief.
Ann’s fingers traced Mica’s jaw, tender, lingering. Then she slipped from the bed, bare feet silent on the marble floor. At the doorway she paused, turned back, and smiled once more before vanishing into the shadowed hallway.
The light dimmed. The warmth faded.
“Mica, baby?”
Her mother’s voice, gentle but insistent. Lady Falcondo sat on the edge of the bed, brushing hair from Mica’s forehead.
Mica blinked, the dream shattering. Sadness crashed through her like a wave, cold and heavy.
Her mother pulled her into a tight embrace. “I know you’ve grown so fond of Ann. I see how you two do almost everything together. She’s not gone forever, sweetheart. You can still see her. This marriage… it will bind our families closer. It will bind you girls more, I promise.”
Mica forced a smile, small and convincing. “I know, Mom. You’re right.”
Lady Falcondo kissed her cheek, warm and maternal. “Freshen up and join us for breakfast.”
The door closed softly behind her.
Mica sat there a moment, staring at the empty side of the bed. Then she rose, steel sliding back into place.
In the mirror, she became the Queen again: black tailored suit that hugged her frame like armor, crisp white shirt, hair slicked back sharp enough to cut. Tattoos peeked at her collar, rings glinted on her fingers. She looked untouchable.
Downstairs, the dining room smelled of fresh coffee and warm bread. She kissed her father’s hand as she took her seat beside him.
The maid served her portion. Mica ate mechanically.
Don Falcondo cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the quiet.
“Ahem. Chiquita, you have a meeting with your fiancé later today. Make time for it.”
Mica nodded once—soft, but bold. No argument. Not yet.
After breakfast, she walked straight to his study, hands in pockets, and sat without invitation.
Her voice was calm, strong, edged with steel. “Chairman Vito and his son are beneath us. Their businesses are crumbling. This entire alliance is a setup, and you, Father, are wiser than that.”
Don Falcondo listened, fingers steepled, letting her finish.
Then he rose, walked around the desk, and sat beside her. He took her hands in his—old, calloused, but gentle.
“I know, Chiquita. I know.” His smile was small, knowing. “But I’m playing my cards right. Vito may be weak, but he has something I need. You marrying Ruben transfers it to us. Trust me.”
Mica met his gaze. “I don’t love him. I don’t need him. Whatever it is you want from them—I’ll get it myself. Drop this.”
He squeezed her hands once, then stood and returned to his chair.
“Do this for your family, Chiquita. It will be our greatest victory yet.”
Her phone rang—sharp, cutting through the tension.
She glanced at the screen, answered firmly. “Yes. Okay.”
She stood, smoothed her suit. “Father, I have business to handle.”
She left without waiting for permission, stride calm and boyish, power in every step.
Outside, Salazar swung open the car door. She slid into the back. The convoy pulled out—first car leading, hers in the middle, third guarding the rear.
At her bureau downtown, they parked in the underground garage. Salazar followed close as she strode through corridors, secretary Mrs. Juan hurrying alongside with a file.
Mrs. Juan—late fifties, loyal for decades, sharp as a blade—briefed her swiftly on the delayed shipment.
Mica smiled faintly, took the file, and entered her office.
Three impatient men waited inside.
She unbuttoned her suit jacket, sat, and leaned back.
“I’m sorry for the delay, gentlemen. As we speak, your orders are ready. My men will escort you.”
The lead man stood, voice tight. “This has never happened before. We expect timeliness.”
Mica’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? You have your product now. Take it and leave—if you still want it.”
They left, anger simmering but unspoken.
Mica turned her chair to face the wall-to-wall window, city sprawling below.
Salazar entered. “You called, boss.”
She spun back, slid a folded note into his hand.
“You know what to do. Be discreet.”
He nodded once and left.
She made calls, reviewed files, then summoned Mrs. Juan.
“Prepare three sacks of our premium product. Cash buyer coming—300 million yuan. My men stay with you. Make it clean.”
“Understood.”
When Mrs. Juan left, Mica’s phone buzzed again.
“Okay.”
She grabbed her keys, waved off the drivers. “Stay with Juan.”
She drove alone, windows down, wind whipping her hair.
She stopped at a deserted cliffside overlook—vast ocean below, city lights twinkling in the distance. The same view from her estate pool, but wilder here.
She leaned against the hood, sunglasses on, watching the sun climb.
Time passed. She paced. Checked her watch.
A car approached.
Salazar.
Relief flooded her.
The passenger door flew open.
Ann ran straight into her arms.
They held each other like the world might end—tight, desperate, breathing each other in.
Salazar approached. “Thank you. Leave us. Not a word.”
“Understood, boss.”
He drove away.
Ann pulled back just enough to kiss her—soft at first, then deep, hungry.
Mica cupped her face, pushed dark curls behind her ear, kissed her back with everything she’d held in since the night before.
They laughed, breathless, and climbed onto the warm hood of the car.
“It’s not the same without you,” Ann said quietly, voice sad.
“I’ll fix this,” Mica promised, thumb stroking Ann’s cheek. “Soon.”
She lifted Ann off the hood, carried her bridal-style to the passenger seat with a grin, then drove.
They ended up at a dimly lit bar on the edge of town—Mica’s quiet spot. She was greeted like royalty, led to her usual corner booth.
Wine appeared—two glasses, one bottle.
They talked, laughed, hands intertwined under the table.
A musician took the stage. Mica’s favorite song began.
She sang along softly, eyes only on Ann, who blushed and smiled.
The musician noticed, brought the mic over.
Mica took it without hesitation, voice low and rich, singing every word to Ann.
The small crowd cheered when she finished.
Ann hugged her, laughing. “I had no idea you could sing like that.”
“I sing when I’m happy,” Mica said, pulling her close. “And you make me happy.”
They finished their wine. Ann, tipsy and glowing, asked to leave.
Mica draped her suit jacket over Ann’s shoulders against the night chill, opened the car door, and drove into the darkness—two women stealing hours from a world that wanted to keep them apart.
- Writer
