"I hate them," Micheal says through seethed teeth. His slurry eyes shadowing the pain laced in his voice, "I hate every single one of them."
"What they put me through," he continues, stamping his hand hard on the dinning table, the plates vibrating along, "What they made me do."
I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time. Turns out that whatever it was that Dave gave me to tip Micheal's food, it is making him to talk about his grudge with his family. Not to confess to his crime like we need him to.
While he keeps going about the cruelty, and how his family had molested him, I hold my throbbing head in my palms, barely listening to him.
What I didn't expect is for Micheal's personal assistance, Vanessa, to barge in on us.
Immediately she sees the strange drama Micheal is putting on, she rushes towards him with widened eyes.
"What the hell happened to him?"
I spring to my feet as well, not knowing what to say. I didn't know Micheal allows his staff in his private home.
"What happened to him?" I ask, pretending not to notice the sweats now dripping down his face.
"I'm going to kill each and every one of them. I'll make sure that their souls rot in hell." Micheal blurts.
"What the fuccck is he talking about?"
"Isn't that how he speaks?"
Vanessa jabs me a suspicious glance mixed with hatred before pulling Micheal up and out of the dinning room.
My numb fingers grabbing the steering wheels manoeuvres through the busy streets of New York towards Chloe's apartment the next day, while my brain keeps scanning for another genius idea. I have been doing that scanning since last night, up to no avail.
I let out a tiring breath as I press Chloe's doorbell. Whoever told me that working as an undercover would be this tedious, I'd have waved him off to be babbling nonsense. My head tilts to the side on remembering the doubtful look Dave had given me when I told him I will take on the undercover task. Now I understand what that look meant.
I jab my palm hard on Chloe's doorframe, just as she is swinging the door open. My hand ended up almost colliding on her face.
She narrows her eyes at me, "What? You're here to hit me again?"
"I'm sorry about that. Can I come in?"
She fully comes out of her apartment and shuts the door behind her, "You can say whatever you want right here. I'm all ears."
"You're not going to let me in?"
"Nope."
The way she is avoiding making eye contact with me tells me that my previous actions had done more harm than good.
"I'm so sorry."
She folds her hands across her chest, her mood growing more serious, "What exactly are you sorry for, Sarah? For slappping your best friend? Or because you realized you had been wrong about the recording."
"Both, Chloe. I'm sorry —"
She enters back into her apartment and slams the door on my face. At that point, the heat of it all comes rushing to me. I've lost my two best friends. One to betrayal. The other to unforgiveness.
I curse out loud on seeing Dave's name on my caller ID.
"It didn't work." I say, not in the mood to greet him or exchange pleasantries.
"I know. I heard it all."
"I'm not sure this is going to work either."
Dave starts laughing, surprising and annoying me at the same time. I don't know which is more annoying between the sound of his laughter and the wrong timing of the laughter.
"Nice one, Sarah."
"Excuse me?"
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
"Maybe?" I reply.
Maybe this idea of using sex as a weakness for a man who can get sex with a snap of his finger is the most stupid idea Dave has ever come up with.
"Well I'm not stupid Sarah. Don't forget I still have your breach of contract right inside my palm. One stupid move from you, I'll land your ass in jail!"
"B-but sir I —" I begin.
However he cut me off my saying "I need that confession in the next 48 hours. Just 48 hours!"
The phone slips off my hand and lands on the floor. But he continues talking. And even though his voice is now muffled, I can feel the weight of each word. Every single one of them.
Not able to feel at ease at home, I decide to switch cars and slide into one of Micheal's car and zoom off to the doctor's office. I don't have an appointment with him, but I don't care. He will have to lead me through the available options either ways.
Dave says he needs the conversation under 48 hours. But I doubt if I can last another 24 hours in this crazy arrangement I call an undercover job.
The doctor sneaks me into his tight schedule after thirty minutes of riff raffing with his assistant, who insisted that he wouldn't let me in. Not even when I threatened to cause a scene. I think he only let me in after he saw the pain clouding my eyes.
"How may I help you today Ms Willson?"
"Mrs Bavarish." I correct him. If a fake marriage is about to ruin a career I had dreamed and worked so hard, I might as well play the part.
"Sorry, Mrs Bavarish."
However, a deep frown masks his face when I ask him about the abortion option. Then the frown deepens when I suggest adoption. I left him with an incredulous look when I mumble something about keeping the baby.
"I'm thinking of aborting it." I blurt out to Natasha immediately she picks up the call.
"What?"
The last thing I'm worried about is her telling George about aborting Micheal's baby. In fact, that's what I want. If I am to quit my job and destroy my career with my own hands, then it has to worth it.
When I saw ten missed calls from my mom later that night, my worry piques. I call her back, hoping it's not what I think it is.
"Sarah Tatiana Darlington, why in God's name are you thinking of killing an innocent child?"