C144 No Hold On Me

Mikhail leaned against the sleek black car he’d driven to the secluded spot where Annabelle had agreed to meet him.

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the small clearing, its light filtering through the trees and playing across the hood of the car.

He rubbed the back of his neck, nerves he didn’t often feel gnawing at him.

Today wasn’t just about seeing her; it was about finally saying what he’d buried for far too long.

When Annabelle arrived, she wore a simple floral dress that swayed gently in the breeze, her hair loose around her shoulders.

She looked effortlessly beautiful, the kind of beauty that didn’t need embellishments.

She offered him a tentative smile, one that stirred something deep inside him.

“Mikhail,” she greeted warmly as she walked towards him.

“Annabelle,” he said, pushing off the car to stand straighter.

His usual carefree smile was absent, replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness.

She tilted her head, her expression turning curious. “What’s going on? You sounded... different when you asked me to meet you.”

He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to talk to you. About us.”

Her brows knitted together. “Us?”

“Yes.” He took a step closer, his gaze fixed on hers. “I’ve been holding this in for too long, and I can’t anymore. Annabelle, I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Annabelle’s eyes widened, and she took an instinctive step back. “Mikhail...”

He lifted a hand, stopping her from saying more. “Let me finish. I’ve loved you since the day I saw you in front of that hospital. Even before I knew your name, I knew you were special. And then, when I got to know you, it only got worse. I tried to stay away because of Dante, because of what he meant to me, but I can’t anymore. Not when I know how he treats you, how trapped you must feel.”

Annabelle’s mouth opened, but no words came out immediately. Finally, she found her voice. “Mikhail, I... I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you feel the same way,” he urged, his voice low and urgent. “And if you are scared of what Dante might do; tell me. Tell me, and I’ll take you away. Dante has no hold on me anymore. I can give you a life without this madness, without the constant fear.”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but she hesitated.

He saw the flicker of something in her eyes, something he hoped was the truth he longed for.

“I’m not afraid of Dante,” she said softly, meeting his gaze. “Well... maybe sometimes, but that’s not why I can’t say what you want to hear.”

He stepped closer, his heart pounding. “Then why? Why not, Annabelle? You can trust me. I’ll protect you.”

Annabelle lowered her gaze, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Because I love him.”

It was like a physical blow, her words cutting through him with brutal efficiency. Mikhail stood there, frozen, the weight of her confession pressing down on his chest.

“You love him?” he echoed, his tone disbelieving.

She nodded, finally looking up at him. “I do. And I’m sorry, Mikhail. I never wanted to hurt you. You’re my friend, and I value you so much. But it’s Dante I love.”

Mikhail’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was making a mistake, but he saw the sincerity in her eyes, the finality in her words.

“Friend,” he repeated bitterly, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.

He nodded stiffly, stepping back. “Got it.”

“Mikhail, I...”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended.

He forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I get it. Loud and clear.”

Without another word, he turned and walked back to his car, his heart feeling heavier with each step.

**********

Hours later, Mikhail sat in his dimly lit study, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him.

His glass of whiskey rested untouched beside it.

The silence of the room was broken only by the soft ticking of the clock, but his mind was anything but quiet.

Annabelle’s words echoed like a relentless drumbeat, “I only see you as a friend.” He leaned back, letting his head rest against the cool leather, but no amount of stillness could calm the storm inside him.

It wasn’t just her rejection.

It was the sincerity in her voice, the certainty that tore through him. She hadn’t even hesitated.

She had loved Dante, despite the man’s flaws and controlling nature.

And him?

What had he been?

A fleeting distraction?

A confidant too weak to hold her heart?

Annabelle’s words echoed in his mind: "I love him."

He slammed the glass down on the table, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Fucking Dante,” he muttered under his breath.

The thought of his estranged relationship with Dante only made his mood darker.

They’d been like brothers once, bound by loyalty and respect.

But now? Now, everything was fractured, and it was all because of a woman who didn’t even see him as more than a friend.

Mikhail’s thoughts drifted to his father, the ageing patriarch who remained oblivious to the rift between him and Dante.

Neither of them had told Matteo, not wanting to worsen his already fragile health.

But it didn’t make the reality any easier to bear.

The door creaked open, and Antonia strolled in, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

She wore a tailored cream suit with her hair styled in a sleek ponytail.

The sharpness in her gaze matched her words as she asked, “Well, don’t you look like shit? What’s the matter, Mik?”

Mikhail didn’t answer immediately, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

Antonia sighed dramatically and took a seat opposite him. “Let me guess. Annabelle?”

Mikhail shot her a sharp look, but the irritation in his eyes was no match for the pain beneath it. “I already told you, Tonia. She’s not interested.”

Antonia rolled her eyes, leaning forward slightly. “And you believed her?” she asked incredulously. “Mikhail, you’re smarter than this. She’s scared, not indifferent.”

“Scared?” he echoed.

“Yes. Scared of Dante.” Antonia’s tone was confident, her words smooth and practiced. “Do you think she’s free to love whoever she wants with that man watching her every move? She’s trapped, Tay. And you…you’re her way out.”

Mikhail frowned, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “She said she loves him,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Antonia’s laugh was light, mocking. “Of course, she said that. What else is she supposed to say when she knows Dante’s shadow looms over her? She’s protecting herself.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his mind racing.

Could Antonia be right?

Was Annabelle simply too afraid to admit her true feelings?

Mikhail had seen the way Dante controlled everything, the suffocating authority that seemed to seep into every aspect of Annabelle’s life.

“Even if you’re right,” he said cautiously, “what do you expect me to do? Drag her away? Force her to admit something she doesn’t want to?”

Antonia leaned back, a small smile playing on her lips. “She doesn’t need forcing. She needs freedom. Take her somewhere safe, away from Dante. Give her a chance to think without his influence poisoning her mind. And then ask her again.”

Her words lit a spark of reckless determination in him, though doubt still lingered at the edges of his thoughts. “And if she still chooses him?”

Antonia shrugged. “Then at least you’ll know you tried.”