Chapter Fifty-four
Abigail-Ann
“If I know what love is, it is because of you.”
~ Hermann Hesse
T he week passed in a blur. If anyone asked me about love, I’d tell them about Mikkel—how he turned my world upside down, how deeply he loved, and how he took the time to understand me. I spent an entire day crying, overwhelmed by the West Wing he built for me, the thousand-petal rose in a glass dome filled with everything he adored about me, and the quotes meant to brighten my day. He mended a heart he hadn’t broken and never made me feel like I owed him anything.
But, beneath all that love, a strange restlessness lingered—a quiet hum under my skin I couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe everything was finally catching up to me. I exhaled, trying to shake it off, as the scent of garlic and rosemary filled the room. From my spot on the sofa, I watched Mikkel move effortlessly in the kitchen, stirring with practiced ease before sending me a soft smile over his shoulder.
“Feeling any better?”
I managed a small smile. “Hmm?”
He turned off the burner, sat beside me, and set down a bowl of salad. “You’re anxious. You slept under the weighted blanket, clung to your knitted flowers, then bit your acrylics off before I left for my meeting.”
I chuckled, embarrassed. “That obvious?”
“I pay attention to everything about you, baby.” He nudged me with a reassuring squeeze. “What’s on your mind?”
I sighed, facing him. “I just feel on edge.”
His gaze softened. “I’m here with you.” He took my hand, squeezing gently. “Tonight’s just us—good food, no pressure.”
“ Te amo . 184 ” I gave his hand a squeeze in return. “You should cook more often. This is working wonders.”
He chuckled, eyes gleaming with pride. “Just a little something. But if it helps you relax, I’ll keep cooking.”
Mikkel plated the steak, perfectly seared, alongside roasted vegetables and a drizzle of barbecue sauce. My stomach grumbled in anticipation. Was there anything this man couldn’t do?
Just as I speared a bite, my phone buzzed. Expecting a message from Azzaria, Aurora or my parents, I glanced at the screen.
And my heart sank.
Unknown number.
Maybe: Joshua Milton.
Well, fuck. At least I knew that off–feeling wasn’t in vain.
“Everything okay?” Mikkel asked casually, his brows furrowed.
“Yeah… just reading something.” I tried to keep my voice steady as I opened the message.
The words on the screen hit me like a punch to the gut.
I’m in NYC. We need to talk. Meet me at Ginjan cafe tomorrow. Noon.
Or your little boyfriend sees how much of a slut you are.
Attached to the message was a file. My hand shook as I opened it, my worst fears confirmed instantly. Thank God the volume was down. It was the sex tape Joshua swore he’d deleted, now a weapon in his hands.
Panic tightened my throat, my chest constricting as I fought for breath. I quickly shut off my phone, forcing a smile as I tried to compose myself. Mikkel, sensing my distress, rushed over, concern clouding his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand hovering over my shoulder.
“I’m… not feeling well,” I muttered, swallowing hard.
Mikkel studied me, his eyes searching for the truth. He nodded reluctantly, but doubt lingered in his gaze.
Dinner passed in strained silence, my mind racing with the terrifying consequences of what Joshua might do next. The thought of the headline— Mikkel Suarez’s Girlfriend’s Sex Tape Leaks —clawed at me. What would it do to his reputation?
To his company?
How could I protect him from this?
How could I protect myself?
What would Joshua demand this time?
And, most painfully, why couldn’t I find the words to tell Mikkel?
I pressed my fork into my palm, feeling the prongs dig against my skin.
“ Mi amor , 185 ” he said gently, taking the fork from me. “Breathe, I’m here with you.”
That one sentence melted the knot in my chest, softening the ache that had built up with my fears. He was here, truly here , and there was no rush, no anger waiting to catch me off guard.
After dinner, we went to bed, Mikkel’s warmth offering a brief comfort against the fear gnawing at me. But no matter how tightly I held onto him, my mind kept drifting back to Joshua—the five years of pain, the way a single action could unravel everything I’d worked so hard to heal.
Mikkel kissed my forehead, whispering reassurances, and for a moment, I let myself believe everything would be okay. But deep down, I knew the storm was coming.
And then, the dream took me—a warped, sinister version of reality.
A thick fog enveloped me as I navigated through a murky forest, the darkness pressing in on all sides like a suffocating shroud. In the distance, I spotted Joshua standing amidst the twisted trees.
I approached him, my steps heavy with trepidation as a chill crept up my spine. His eyes held a malevolent gleam. When his lips curled into a smirk, an icy shiver ran through me.
“You thought you could escape me?” His voice echoed through the eerie silence, each word laced with malice. “You’ll always come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness, whore.”
I tried to protest, to assert my independence, but my voice faltered, drowned out by the cacophony of doubt and fear echoing in my mind. Memories of our toxic relationship flooded me—the abuse, the manipulation, the ongoing cycle of pain.
“You’ll never be free.”
Panic gripped me as I struggled to break free from his grasp, but no matter how hard I fought, I remained ensnared in his web of control. The forest seemed to close in around me, suffocating me with its oppressive darkness.
I woke up with a jolt, heart racing and body drenched in sweat, trying to shake off the nightmare.
“Mikkel?” My voice trembled as I turned to wake him. He stirred, blinking sleepily as he reached for his glasses on the bedside table.
“Baby?” he asked, concern knitting his brow. “Are you okay?”
“I… had a nightmare,” I managed, my breath still coming in ragged gasps.
He sat up, brushing my damp forehead. “What happened? Talk to me, amor .”
“I… d-dreamt about my past,” I whispered, trying to stop the shaking.
He nodded, worry in his eyes. “Stay here.” He slipped out of bed and returned with water. I drank, the coolness easing my throat.
Mikkel wrapped his arms around me. “I promise, no one will ever hurt you again,” he murmured, kissing my forehead.
His warmth settled me, and soon, we drifted back to sleep.
By morning, he was gone, but his embrace lingered. In the kitchen, I found breakfast, a note filled with love, and bouquet of yellow and white roses. A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips as I read his words—touched by his care yet weighed down by the guilt of what I hadn’t told him.
I had an early meeting. Hope you’re feeling better. Te amo, mi vida.
—Mikkel.
Frozen in the café doorway, the heaviness of past pain pressed down on me. Joshua sat at a corner table, his smile a mask for the turmoil in his eyes, a haunting reminder of the past.
I hadn’t come here out of desire but out of necessity. I needed this to end. I needed him to understand that whatever he was clinging to was just a ghost of something long gone. This wasn’t about closure—at least not for me. I had rediscovered who I was and learned to love myself again, all while the best man I had ever met held my hand. This was about finally putting an end to the shadows he kept casting over my life.
I took a breath, straightening my spine, and walked toward him, each step a silent declaration of everything I had reclaimed since him.
“Hey, love, missed you,” he greeted, his voice sweet but fake, a blade twisting in my gut.
“Get to the fucking point. Why am I here?”
His eyes flickered for a second, a flash of annoyance before he masked it. “You wound me, love,” he replied, but the charade didn’t fool me.
“Why did you want to see me?” My voice trembled with something deeper—rage, sure, but also something harder, something I didn’t recognize in myself until now .
“I just wanted to see you one last time,” he said, leaning in, eyes intense, searching. “Before I leave for Europe, I had to see my favorite girl—the one who gives the best head—one last time.”
The words hit me like a slap, but I held my ground, gripping my bag so tight I thought it would snap. “I’m leaving,” I said, standing up, my legs shaking, but my voice strong. “You’re fucking disgusting.”
“Don’t go so fast,” he muttered, his voice softening just enough to make my skin crawl. He raised his phone, the screen gleaming like a knife. “Sit down. Let’s talk, Abigail.”
I didn’t move. The blood drained from my face as he hit play. The video began—my stomach lurched, nausea rising.
“W-why do you still have the tape?” I stammered, a tear slipping, but I wiped it away before he saw.
His finger hovered over the screen before he tapped it again, slow and deliberate—like this was all just a game to him. His voice dripped with manipulation as he said, “Why would I get rid of something so valuable?”
A chill ran through me.
“This will always be here,” he continued, his smirk sharp and cruel. “You’ll always remember who you really are. Not some polished princess with a perfect billionaire on her arm. The whore capable of everything and more in that tape.”
I could feel the tremor in my chest, but my voice was firm. “I hate you,” I spat, the words tasting like acid.
“You loved me once,” he said, smug.
“I thought I did,” I corrected, meeting his eyes without flinching. “You’re pathetic.”
“And your boyfriend ruined everything. My family’s legacy. My dad’s company. Everything .”
I froze. What?
“He tore the Milton Group apart. Demolished our building. He destroyed everything my father worked for. All for what?”
“All for me,” I said, my voice steady. “He did it for me. And you don’t have as much power as you think you do, Joshua. Send him the tape, I dare you. All your attempts to ruin my life have only ended up ruining yours. You could’ve maybe gotten to the old me, but this version? This one right here? Fuck no. You spent your life hating your father, but the truth is, you are him . And I’m glad Mikkel ruined your good for nothing legacy.”
He recoiled, taken aback by the woman standing in front of him—someone he thought he could break, someone he thought would cower. But not anymore.
“You’re a fucking psychopath,” I spat, disgust flooding my veins.
“I’m leaving,” I whispered fiercely, but before I could take a step, his voice slithered behind me.
“One click of a button, and he sees how much of a slut you are. The headlines will destroy hi—”
“Send the tape,” I said, my voice low, sharp, and cold. “Fucking send it.”
His disbelief was almost palpable. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I said, every word heavy with the weight of everything I’d fought for. “After that, you’ll have nothing left.”
I pushed my chair back and walked out, head held high, his desperate calls fading behind me. My hands trembled—not from fear, but from triumph. This was for every time I had cowered, every moment he had disrespected and dismissed me.
But now came the hardest part— telling Mikkel.