Chapter 4 Clash and test
Daphne knew she hated him the second her grandfather introduced them.
Michael Hale. Tall, quiet, annoyingly steady. The kind of person Alasdair Whitmore trusted without explanation.
That alone made him dangerous.
She crossed her arms as he followed her through the marble foyer. He walked like he had a compass in his spine. No hesitation. No nerves. Just quiet confidence that irritated her for reasons she refused to name.
He didn’t belong in her world.
People in her world didn’t look that serious.
Or that observant.
She could feel his gaze on her back while she adjusted her sunglasses.
“Your schedule for today,” Michael said, handing her a folder.
“I know my schedule,” she replied, not looking at it. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
That answer annoyed her more. She wanted him flustered. She wanted him stumbling or sweating or at least blinking too much. Instead, he just waited.
She snapped the folder shut and tossed it on the counter.
“Let’s go. Try to keep up.”
He kept up easily.
~~~
Two hours into the trip, Daphne concluded that Michael Hale might be the most boring man alive.
He followed her into every boutique. He took her bags without being asked. He stayed a few steps behind, close enough to protect her but far enough not to crowd her. Exactly the distance a perfect bodyguard should keep.
She hated that too.
When she picked up a silver dress, she didn’t ask his opinion. She didn’t want his opinion. She wanted something to bother him.
She pointed at the pile of boxes near her feet.
“Carry those.”
“That is already the plan.”
His calm voice made her blood rise.
She kept adding boxes. Shoes. Belts. More shoes. A few gift bags she didn’t even want. The pile grew until Michael’s arms were full from wrist to shoulder.
People stared.
She smiled.
“Make sure none of it wrinkles,” she said.
“It won’t.”
She moved to the next store. He followed, loaded like a pack mule, still silent.
The silence bothered her.
She wanted a reaction.
An eye roll.
A sigh.
Anything human.
But no. Michael Hale was a statue.
~~~
The boutique had velvet curtains, soft lighting and a bored-looking attendant. Daphne handed her purse to Michael.
“Hold this.”
He did.
She disappeared behind the curtain, tried on a red dress, frowned at herself, then tried on a shorter black one. She let the minutes drag on just to see if he would shift or tap his foot.
Nothing.
He stood perfectly still. The picture of patience.
She hated patience.
When she finally stepped out, she found him in the exact same spot.
“You have been standing there the whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“No.”
Of course it wasn’t.
She stepped closer, tilting her head. “You know you can speak, right? You are allowed to have opinions.”
“I only speak when necessary.”
His face didn’t move.
She almost wanted to scream.
Instead she tossed the black dress to the attendant and walked away.
“Let’s try the next store. Try not to fall behind with all the bags.”
~~~
They reached the car in silence. Well, not complete silence. Daphne was humming to herself, tapping her nails on her phone and pretending she didn’t care if Michael was annoyed.
A bright yellow paper flapped under the windshield.
Parking violation.
She stopped.
Stared at it.
Then looked at Michael.
“You parked,” she said.
He didn’t even blink. “You told me to stop here.”
“Yes, but I didn’t tell you to get a ticket.”
He studied her for three long seconds.
“I will handle it.”
“Good.”
She climbed into the passenger seat and snapped her seatbelt. The moment he sat down, she turned to him.
“That goes on your record, right? Not mine.”
He glanced at the ticket, then at her. “If that is what you prefer.”
She smiled like a satisfied cat.
“Yes. It is.”
He didn’t react.
He just drove.
And somehow, that made the victory feel smaller than she wanted.
~~~
Her mood changed the moment she got home.
The mansion always felt too large at night. Too quiet. Too full of echoes she didn’t want to hear.
She dismissed Michael with a wave of her hand. “You can go. Or stand in the hallway all night. I don’t really care.”
He nodded. “Good night, Miss Whitmore.”
She shut her door quickly, before she could notice how steady his voice was.
How unfazed.
She didn’t want to think about him anymore.
She changed out of her clothes, tossed them onto a chair and collapsed on her bed. Her heart was still buzzing with irritation and something else she didn’t want to examine.
She fell asleep too fast.
And the nightmare hit almost instantly.
~~~
She was six again.
Small.
Barefoot.
Standing in the doorway while her mother packed a suitcase.
“Mama, do not go.”
Her voice sounded thin. Afraid.
Her mother didn’t look back. She kept folding clothes, shoved a hairbrush in the side pocket, slammed the suitcase shut.
The floorboards creaked.
Two men stepped inside. She didn’t know them. Big hands. Dark jackets. No faces in the dream. Just shadows.
One grabbed her wrist.
“Mama.”
She tried pulling away.
Her small hand slipped.
She fell backward into darkness.
She never saw what came next.
She never remembered.
Only terror and weight and choking silence.
She woke gasping, sweat drenching her hairline, fingers jerking at the sheets as if something still held her down.
The room felt too small.
Her lungs too tight.
She pressed a hand over her mouth, forcing the sob back.
Not again.
Not tonight.
She sat up, shaking, waiting for her breathing to settle. It took too long.
~~~
She stepped into the hallway for air. The floor was cold under her feet. The mansion was dark except for a faint gold light near the stairs.
Someone was there.
Of course he was.
Michael stood by the wall, hands behind his back, eyes open.
He looked at her face and straightened.
“You alright?”
Her chest tightened.
She hated that question.
She lifted her chin. “Why are you standing here like a guard dog?”
“Your grandfather asked me to check in until you fall asleep.”
“Well, I am awake now.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She brushed past him. His presence felt too solid, too calm, too aware.
She didn’t want him noticing anything about her.
Especially not her shaking hands.
She went back inside her room and shut the door harder than necessary.
She sat on her bed again, pulled her knees close, trying to slow her heartbeat.
She refused to admit it, but part of her had gone into the hallway hoping he wouldn’t be there.
And another part had gone hoping he would.
She hated both parts.
~~~
She woke up late and irritated.
Michael was waiting in the foyer with the same neutral expression.
She stopped in front of him.
"You have been working for me for two days," she said. "How do you like it?"
"I like the job."
“You quit yet?”
“No.”
She blinked.
That answer was too quick.
Too sure.
She stepped closer, voice cool. “You really think you can handle me.”
“Yes.”
Something in his tone made her stomach twist.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Something she didn’t want to name.
Her smile slipped, just a little.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s see
how long you last.”
But as she walked away, she had the unsettling feeling that she wasn’t the one testing him anymore.
She didn’t look back, but his answer stayed with her longer than she wanted.
Not a chance.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a victory.
