Bella sank onto the old, squeaky spring mattress of the motel bed, and everything around her began to spin. The chaos at the club had drained her social battery to zero. She felt exhausted—drained of energy, patience, and hope. She couldn't face Michael, let alone Josef.
A few minutes passed, and she stood to wash up. As she passed her open window, her eyes caught Michael's car still parked in the nearly empty lot. The engine was off, but he sat inside, waiting. Frustration and worry gnawed at her. She grabbed her phone and searched through their old messages.
What are you doing, Michael? Go home, she typed, impatience thick in her fingers.
But his reply came quickly, almost threatening: I'm not leaving until you do. This place is dangerous.
Her shoulders sagged. She had no fight left. With a tired sigh, she turned off the screen and crawled back into bed. Guilt crept over her, heavy and unwelcome. She sat up again, peering out the window. The car was still there, and Michael's figure was visible inside.
Exhaustion overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes, hoping to sleep. But rest was elusive. Her body twitched and shifted, restless. Then came the strange noises—rattling, scratching, faint thuds—coming from the ceiling and beneath her bed.
Back at the orphanage, she'd become used to mice scuttling in dark corners, but this felt different—more sinister. Her heart pounded. She sat bolt upright, eyes darting around the room.
And that's when she saw them—eyes glinting from above, staring down at her. Her breath caught in her throat. Fear gripped her, icy and paralyzing. She froze, unable to scream or move.
Instinct took over. With trembling legs, she bolted from the bed, barefoot, and ran for the door. Her footsteps pounding on the floor, she sprinted toward Michael's car, desperately trying to escape whatever was watching her.
Still dressed in her silk pajamas, Bella shivered uncontrollably, her body trembling with fear. Without hesitation, Michael quickly stepped forward, gripping her shoulders gently but firmly. His eyes were filled with a mix of panic, anger, and worry—an unspoken concern that conveyed more than words ever could.
In a sudden, instinctive move, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug. Bella's frail, slender frame pressed against him, her trembling body tense in his embrace. Beneath her silk pajamas, he could sense her bare skin—braless, vulnerable—her soft breasts crushed against his pounding chest as she tried to steady her breathing.
Without a word, Michael gently guided her inside his car. Minutes later, he was walking away from the motel's reception desk, carrying her luggage.
Something shifted inside Michael. That brief, intimate moment—holding Bella in her fragile state, her bare skin just beneath the delicate silk—stirred something deep within him, a sensation he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. A surge of heat threatened to overwhelm him, but as he looked at her—the trembling, shaken girl in the passenger seat—his focus sharpened. All he knew was the need to protect her, to keep her safe at any cost.
He reached out, his voice steady but firm. "Fight me all you want, but you're staying with me tonight. I can't let you stay anywhere else until I know you're safe."
Bella, already calmer but still trembling, looked at him with tired, uncertain eyes. After a moment, she gave a soft, almost inaudible nod, trusting him in her quiet way.
As Bella's eyes adjusted to the evening light, she took in the quiet suburban street. The houses seemed to blend together, but one stood out - a two-storey brick house with a gate and walls, a stark contrast to the others. Michael's car pulled up in front of the house, and he turned off the engine. He got out, stretching his arms above his head, and walked around to the backseat. Bella watched, still trying to shake off the haze of her thoughts.
Michael pulled out a small bag from the backseat and closed the door behind him. He walked around to her side of the car, his movements fluid and confident. As she opened the door, he was already standing outside, a gentle smile on his face.
"Hey, I forgot I had this at the back," he said, wrapping a warm blanket around her shoulders. "Come on, let's get inside."
Bella felt a shiver run down her spine as Michael's warm breath sent tingles across her skin. She took a step back, and Michael followed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.
"I'll get your bag," he said, glancing at the backseat. "You just...come on."
As she took another step back, her feet hit the pavement, and Michael's hand closed around her elbow, steadying her. "Easy," he whispered, his voice low and soothing.
Bella felt a spark of electricity run through her at his touch, and she pulled her arm free, trying to play it cool. "I'm fine," she said, attempting to hide the fact that her heart was racing.
Michael raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, simply following her as she walked towards the house. The gate swung open, and Bella realized that he must have opened it remotely from his phone.
The small yard was meticulously maintained, with an array of ornamental potted plants lining the edge of the narrow walkway. Tall, leafy plants grew along the walls, their lush greenery adding a touch of serenity to the modest space. From the appearance of the garden, it was clear that someone cared deeply for this place—pruned, healthy, and perfectly arranged.
Bella dared to imagine a different version of Michael's life—one she had conjured in her mind over the years. Being born into wealth, she'd heard stories of his family's sprawling private villa somewhere far from here. As a successful, well-paid lawyer, she envisioned him living in a pristine studio apartment high up in a sleek city high-rise, surrounded by luxury and glass walls.
But here he was, standing in front of this humble house, in the middle of a close-knit community where everyone knew each other's names. His house, although out of place among the neighboring homes, somehow seemed to stand on its own terms—an unassuming shelter that hid the quiet strength of the man inside.
Michael's arm still wrapped protectively around her, he gently guided her toward the door. His presence was steady—grounding her even amidst the swirl of thoughts and memories rushing through her mind.
When they reached the front door, Michael paused for a moment. Without hesitation, he typed in the passcode, the numbers illuminated briefly before the door swung open smoothly. Bella's heart fluttered with an odd mixture of trust and hesitation. Somehow, Bella panicked inside thinking of too much trust Michael is placing on her. Although, she tried to forget, she remembered the code.
As she stepped inside, she felt the warmth of the house envelop her—faint scents of wood and fabric, soft lighting casting gentle shadows. It was humble, but cozy, a stark contrast to her expectations of wealth and extravagance.
Michael gently guided her to the plush sofa in the living room and eased her down onto it. His eyes searched her face, concern flickering there. "Did you remember?" he asked softly, his voice calm but tinged with vulnerability.
Bella looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. "Remember what?"
"The code," Michael said, gesturing to the keypad by the door.
She hesitated, caught off guard. "I... I didn't know."
He studied her for a moment, then offered a small, reassuring smile. "I hope you remembered, so you can come here in case of emergencies."
Her brow furrowed. "Why would you do that? And why would I? We're not that close."
A flicker of hurt crossed Michael's face. He looked momentarily lost, as if her words had struck a chord. Bella's heart pounded, panic rising again—what had she just said? Did she push him away?
I shouldn't have said that. Someone who just saved me, and I'm acting like an ingrate.
Before she could dwell further on her regret, she blurted out, "I mean, why would you trust me that much?"
Michael turned slowly, his expression earnest and open. "I don't think you realize how much we were once friends," he said quietly. "We were really close back in high school. Before I left to study abroad."
His words hit her like a wave—memories flooding back. She remembered the laughter, the secret talks, the way he'd always listen. Those moments, long buried, suddenly felt warm and familiar. They made her feel safe in his presence again.
Bella swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "That was a long time ago."
Michael nodded, eyes softening. "Maybe. But some things don't just fade away. I guess I just hoped you'd remember, too."
A long pause stretched between them, heavy with unspoken feelings. Bella's mind raced with memories—of a friendship that once meant everything, now seemingly lost in time. Yet here he was, standing in her life again, not as her enemy, but as a long-lost friend finally found.
Michael's house exuded a cozy, lived-in charm. It was sleek and modern—clean lines, minimalistic decor—but it also carried the unmistakable aura of a home that had seen love, laughter, and shared moments. The scent of fresh wood and faint traces of family life lingered in the air, making it feel warm and welcoming despite its contemporary finish.
Michael opened the refrigerator in the adjacent kitchen, and Bella watched as he rummaged inside. "Hey, you want to eat something?" he asked over his shoulder, a casual smile playing on his lips.
Bella stood and moved to sit at the kitchen counter—centered and practical, with a few worn but well-kept utensils lined up nearby. "What do you have?" she asked with a hint of curiosity, her stomach rumbling softly. She hadn't realized how hungry she was—probably from the hours at the club and everything that had happened at the motel earlier. She hesitated, not wanting to impose, but hunger gnawed at her.
Michael turned, holding a pack of instant noodles with a grin. "How about instant noodles? We used to love it back in high school," he said, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia.
She raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk curling her lips. "Sounds good. But, correction— I don't love it. I just didn't have any choice. And you, on the other hand, loved it—and I don't understand why, since you're rich and could buy anything you want. Plus, you only eat it if I bought it for you."
Michael's smile widened as he reached for eggs and spring onions from the fridge. Quietly, he started preparing his noodles, the familiar routine bringing a flicker of warmth to his face. As he worked, memories surfaced—how he used to sneak a single stove and some utensils into the school's backyard, creating their own little kitchen away from prying eyes.
He remembered how Bella always refused to buy her lunch, maybe out of pride or dignity, but he knew she was hungry all the time. So, they'd cook meals for each other during lunch breaks—little acts of defiance against the world, small ways to fill their stomachs without feeling like charity. It was their secret, a shared act of resilience and friendship.
As the water boiled and the noodles cooked, Michael glanced over at Bella, a soft smile on his face. "I know you missed it."
Bella caught his gaze and looked away, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "Maybe. Or maybe I had moved on."
He chuckled softly. "I haven't. I missed this."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. Despite everything, she felt a flicker of comfort—like old times, like the friendship they used to share was still there, waiting to be rediscovered.
Michael finished plating the noodles, offering her a fork. "Dig in. No matter what, some things never change."
Bella took the fork, feeling a strange warmth inside. Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of a new chapter—one where old memories could help build something new.
Michael watched Bella intently as she devoured her noodles, a quiet admiration flickering in his eyes. She was absorbed in her meal, unaware of his gaze. A small drop of soup escaped the corner of her lips and trickled down her chin. Without thinking, Michael reached out his hand, fingers gentle but purposeful, and wiped it away with his thumb.
His thumb lingered just a moment longer than necessary, feeling the softness of her lips beneath his touch. It was a fleeting gesture, but for Michael, it was a moment frozen in time—an unspoken longing, a memory he had cherished from afar since high school.
Bella's breath hitched as she felt the roughness of his thumb graze her lips. A rush of heat surged through her, igniting something unfamiliar and intense. She looked up, her cheeks flushing, realizing how different Michael looked—no longer the awkward, nerdy boy she once knew. He had grown into someone strikingly handsome, confident in a way that stirred her inside.
She quickly averted her gaze, cheeks burning, and tried to hide her giddiness with a small, shy smile. "Thanks," she mumbled, voice trembling just a little.
Without waiting for a response, she instinctively stood and carried the dishes to the sink, her hands trembling slightly as she washed them. She could feel her insides racing—her heart pounding with every beat, her thoughts swirling in confusion. That simple touch had stirred feelings she couldn't quite understand, threatening to unravel her composure.
As she scrubbed the plate, she took deep breaths, trying to shake off the fluttering sensation in her chest. She told herself it was just the aftermath of the shock, the adrenaline, nothing more. But deep down, she knew that moment had changed something between them—something fragile and delicate, waiting to be explored.