His Kryptonite

Chapter 27

Michael's POV

Laila's been going back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom, crying her eyes out. Maybe pulling out my gun on her father was a bit over the line, but it happened before I could even process it, like some instinct kicking in. When I saw her take a step towards her old man, panic surged through me. The thought of losing her drove me mad, and my body reacted on its own. I can't lose her.

I've been putting on this tough act, but it fucking tears me up inside to see her like this. I risked everything for this broad, and now it feels like she sees being with me as her worst punishment. From the moment I laid eyes on Laila that first day, I knew she spelled trouble. That's why I wanted her to change, to be different, so I wouldn't be so damn intrigued by her. But she didn't, and before I knew it, I was hooked on her like a junkie on crack.

I step outside to the rooftop and light up a cigarette, needing a break from her tears. Part of me wants to tell her to toughen up and stop fucking crying, but I know it won't help. It might just make things worse. Maybe I should reach out to Gianna... Laila's become close with my sister. Perhaps I'll buy her a diamond necklace or something. Girls like shiny things. Or maybe she's into flowers... or chocolates.

I hear some sounds beside me, and only then do I notice Laila standing by the sliding glass door of the rooftop. Her face is still flushed from all the crying. I don't linger on her for too long because the sight doesn't sit well with me. I'd go to great lengths to protect her from anyone who dares to harm her, but in this case, it's me causing the pain. So what the fuck do I do now?

"I don't understand..." Her voice trembles, broken.

"What don't you understand?" I respond, my tone colder than I'd like it to be.

"You were willing to kill my father if I didn't leave with you?" Her voice carries disbelief and pain.

I shrug. Honestly, I don't know what I would have done, so I can't give her an answer. When she took that step toward him, my heart tightened so bad that maybe it would have been me who ended up dead. What does one do when survival instincts kick in? Eliminate the threat.

"So now what?" she asks.

I glance at her, trying to comprehend her question. Now what? We get damn well married, that's what. I don't utter a word and fix my gaze into the distance, taking a drag of my cigarette.

Not satisfied with my silence, she persists, "Can I at least go back by myself and try to fix things?"

I furrow my brows, my heart pounding in my chest. "No." The word slips out, firm and resolute. There's no way she's going back alone. I can sense they'll manipulate her, brainwash her, and she'll never come back to me.

She lets out a heavy sigh, a mix of frustration and pain. "I can't live like this, Michael," she pleads, her voice breaking into a sob.

"Laila, toughen up, for fuck's sake. They'll come around. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me! They're my family!"

I rise from the couch, needing to escape the conversation before she starts begging and I can't bring myself to refuse her. I walk past her, noticing those pleading eyes fixed on me. I give her a deathly glare and make my way out. "You're not seeing them, Laila."

I head to the bedroom and slam the door behind me.

•••

The next day, I wake up and realize that Laila never came to bed. My heart leaps out of my chest as I sit up in bed. The thought of her running away crosses my mind, although she'd have to be damn crafty to slip past all the security guards. But knowing her silver tongue, she might have been able to talk her way to the exit.

I walk into the living room to find her asleep on the couch, still wearing that red floral dress from the day before. It rides up her thighs, revealing her perfect ass. I breathe a sigh of relief, but I realize that I won't be able to let her out of my sight for a while.

I walk to the bedroom, grab a sheet, and return to the main room, draping it over her. She stirs slightly, finding a more comfortable position as the sheet covers her. She lets out a snort, and I can't help but chuckle. It's only six in the morning, and I know she won't wake up for a good while. She's a deep sleeper, while I'm easily awakened by the slightest noise. I gently caress her hazelnut brown hair, admiring her beauty. Damn it, she's perfect. I'd do anything for her.

I cook some breakfast and then head out to the rooftop patio to attend to some business. The damn problem is, I need Francisco's expertise on so many things. I couldn't care less about our beef; business is business. But I suppose my heart has softened because I choose to delegate everything to Renato.

I have to go to the club for some meetings, but there's no fucking way I'm leaving without Laila.

I know that walking into the club with her will shut up all those nosy people who still wonder who the hell is the girl Michael fell for. But it needs to happen sooner or later.

About three hours later, I hear Laila's footsteps shuffling inside, confirming that she's finally awake. When I walk back into the penthouse, she's perched on the kitchen island, eating the breakfast I prepared earlier. She avoids making eye contact, which tells me she's still upset.

"Get ready, we're leaving soon," I say.

She nods without saying a word, and it gets under my skin, but I keep quiet.

We spend the entire morning in complete silence, and the same thing continues as I drive to the club. Once we arrive, the staff greets me as usual, but I can see their curious eyes fixed on Laila, like she's some damn celebrity.

We make our way to the basement, and I bring Laila to the area just outside my office, where there's a brown leather couch and a TV. "Wait for me here."

She sits down on the couch and opens her cellphone, without asking any questions. She's acting submissive now, doing as I say, complying, no smart-ass remarks, no jokes, no nagging me. She's doing everything I always demanded of her, and I can't fucking stand it. I want her back, but I can't ask her to act like the girl I fell for, because she's fucking miserable, and it's evident in every move she makes.