A few hours later, Michael walks through the front door, his expression unreadable as always. He is still in his suit, his tie loosened slightly around his neck. I stand in the living room, my hands clasped together as i watch him approach me.
"Isabella," he says , his voice low. "You wanted to talk."
I nod my head slightly, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "Yes. We need to figure out what's going on between us, Michael. I can't keep doing this—this back-and-forth, this constant uncertainty. I need to know if you're in this with me or not."
Michael's jaw tightens, and for a moment, I feel like he wants to retreat into his usual defensive stance. But then he surprises me by taking a step closer, his gaze meeting mine.
