Love-Hate Relationship

Chapter Six

Sasha finished her work and left the office, giving her girls a knowing smile to which they all nodded. They walked out, and the girls were surprised when they saw the BMW.

"Are you driving a new car now?" asked Janet.

"Not really, I just haven’t had the chance to go home to get my car, so I drove the first one my hand touched the keys to," she replied nonchalantly.

All the ladies stared at her. "What?!" they shouted simultaneously.

Sasha frowned at them. "What?"

"First of all, listen, she said the first set of keys her hand touched, meaning there are more!" Agatha screamed.

"Stop being such a drama queen, will you?" Sasha hissed before opening the car.

"What drama queen? Girl, you’re swimming in money!" Marilyn responded, and the others nodded.

Sasha rolled her eyes and got into the car. "Wouldn't it be better if you girls went home and got ready, or should we cancel?" She raised an eyebrow, and they all screamed.

"Don't you dare!" She laughed and waved goodbye to them before closing the door. She started the car and backed out of the parking lot, glancing in her rearview mirror to see them still staring at the car, shaking her head in disbelief. Sure, the car is pretty flashy, but that doesn’t mean they have to act like that, she thought.

Worry less about them now, Sasha, worry about your husband and how you’re going to tell him you’re going out. He said not to speak to him, right? So, what is she going to do? Should she write it down? "Ugh," she groaned. "For God's sake, Sasha, he’s your husband, you don’t need to leave him a note when he’ll be home before you leave," she said to herself. "I’ll just tell him like a normal person," she concluded before stepping on the accelerator.

She arrived at her new home and parked the car exactly where she’d found it. A part of her was glad he hadn’t gotten home before her. Should you really be worried? Are you really scared because you drove his car to work? She tried to warn herself, but it didn’t stop that part of her from being glad he wasn’t home yet.

She entered the house and decided to make dinner before getting ready to go out with the girls. She quickly prepared a simple dinner and put it in the microwave to keep it warm. She rushed upstairs and took a quick shower. Opening her closet, she was glad that her mother-in-law had really thought well of her. As she browsed through the clothes, she remembered how he had walked into a walk-in closet that night and decided to take a look.

She opened the closet and was surprised—it was very spacious, with many shelves, most of which held different kinds of suits in various colors. Damn, she thought as she walked in. Then one rack caught her attention. It was full of women’s dresses of different sizes, lengths, and colors. There was another shelf containing stilettos in various styles and colors, and yet another for handbags, all worth millions.

Damn, what is Michael doing with all these women’s dresses? She was sure they couldn’t belong to his girlfriends because she was confident he didn’t have any. As for the nearly ten racks holding men’s clothing, those were understandable. Maybe he gave them as gifts to his male lovers. Even the shoes—she was sure he wouldn’t repeat a single pair in six months.

Her fingers brushed over the suits, and they all smelled like him. Well, the entire closet smelled like him. Thinking about him, part of her reminded herself that he could be on his way back and wouldn’t like seeing her here. "Stay out of my business," she recalled his last rule and immediately turned around and left the closet, closing the door—but not without taking another look at the women’s clothes. Who do they belong to? She really wanted to know. Is Michael not gay? But then, in school, when everyone talked about it, he never denied it.

So, will she ask him who owns the dresses? And will he know you invaded his privacy? A voice warned her, and she sighed. She definitely couldn’t ask him; she just had to wait until things were finally good between them. Then she’d ask him. She just hoped it wouldn’t take too long, because she didn’t think she could wait much longer before meeting the woman who owned the dresses, shoes, and bags in her husband’s closet.

She sighed and casually took a red dress from her wardrobe and put it on. She let her hair down, applied some mascara, and also red lipstick. She put on her earrings and a thin wristwatch. She looked at herself in the mirror and pouted. She looked beautiful, but would her husband notice? She doubted it.

She grabbed her purse and phone, noticing that Janet had texted her—they were already on their way to the club. She responded that she would be there soon, and looked at herself once more in the mirror before pulling out a pair of gold stiletto heels and putting them on. She walked downstairs and glanced at the wall clock. It was almost eight o'clock. Why hadn’t he come home yet?

She sat on the couch, ready to wait for him. After all, it wouldn’t be right to leave the house without his consent, would it? She grabbed her phone to call him and realized she didn’t even have his number. What kind of wife doesn’t have her husband’s number? Just as she was still groaning, she heard the sound of a car pulling up, and she jumped to her feet. She looked at the time—8:15. Is that the time he usually comes home? But last night… Ah, forget it; you don’t even know what time he came home yesterday.

She stared expectantly at the door. The door opened, and he walked in, his suit in his hand, three buttons of his shirt undone, and his right hand holding his briefcase. He glanced at her and immediately looked away, heading for the stairs. She followed him.

"I made dinner. It’s in the microwave; should I warm it up for you?"

He ignored her and began climbing the stairs.

"How was work? I hope it wasn’t too stressful?" He still didn’t answer her. "I’m going out with my friends tonight. I was supposed to take them out for a girls' night before our wedding, but I didn’t. I want to make it up to them, so we’re going to a club near…" she was saying when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Michael turned to look at her, and his eyes burned into hers. "I never knew you were deaf," he said in his deep, sensational voice. "Or are you just acting ignorant or playing dumb?"

Sasha bit her lip. "I’m just trying to tell you where I’m going."

"Does it look like I care? If you want to spend the night out, I don’t mind."

"Michael—"

"I gave you a rule, and it’s your duty to follow it. Don’t talk to me. What’s so hard to understand about that, or are you so stupid that you can’t tell when someone doesn’t want you?"

His words struck her heart, and she tried to hide how hurt she felt. "Should I heat up your food?"

Michael snorted. "God, I’m married to an i***t," he looked at her again. "I don’t want your food, is that clear enough?"

She sighed and nodded. "Alright, can I go out with the girls?" He simply turned around and continued up the stairs.

"I’ll take that as a yes," she added, but he pretended not to hear her and headed straight to the bedroom.

Sasha stared after him and sighed. Just as she was about to think it over, her phone rang. She rushed to grab it—it was Janet.

"Hey girl!" She did her best to sound cheerful.

"Where the hell are you? We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes!"

"I’ll be there; just give me ten minutes," she replied and hung up. She grabbed her purse and rushed out of the house.

She was lucky to immediately spot a taxi and flagged it down, hopping in, and they drove off.

Upstairs, a man stood by the window, his crystal blue eyes following the taxi’s lights as they disappeared. He dialed a number on his phone. "Find out which club Mrs. Brown is heading to. You’ve got ten minutes," he said before hanging up, his eyes still fixed on the direction of the taxi, even as it was far out of sight.