Chapter 867: Chapter 867



The man who had been observing quietly hurried over. “Hey, where are you taking her?”

Michael shot him a frosty look. “Tell your crew—if she shows up again, she’s off-limits.”

“And who are you to demand that?”

The question was bold, but a nudge from a companion and a whisper of Michael’s name silenced the man. A sinking feeling told him Dulce might be out of his life for good.

He had a soft spot for Dulce, unlike the affluent women who exploited his time. She was merely a young woman, and he enjoyed listening to her daily dilemmas, compensated handsomely all the while. Yet, he had no authority to challenge Michael.

“Please, take good care of her,” he said, despite knowing it wasn’t his place.

Michael’s response was a dismissive scoff. “She’s none of your business.”

As Dulce slumped into the car, she quickly lost consciousness. Despite her low tolerance, she had attempted to drink like a seasoned regular. Michael drove her back to his place.

Clinging to Michael’s neck, Dulce mumbled groggily, “Is this your place? You live like a king but sell yourself?”

Irritation creased Michael’s brow. “Dulce, look at me properly and see who I really am.”

“What’s there to look at?” she retorted, squirming and reaching for the hem of her shirt as if to pull it off. “I want to make out!”

Tonight, buoyed by a rare bout of liquid courage, she was ready to act on impulses she normally suppressed.

Michael pinned Dulce’s hands, her shirt riding up to reveal the edge of her bra and the curve of her waist. His eyes briefly traced her figure before he composed himself, refocusing intently on Dulce.

The firm grip caused Dulce to wince, her eyes snapping open. Their gazes locked, and a hint of panic flashed across Michael’s face.

Dulce abruptly sat up, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“How wonderful it would be if you really were Michael!” Her voice broke with emotion, the sound tearing at his heart.

Michael couldn’t fathom why he meant so much to Dulce. He was just a jerk. A man still hung up on his ex-wife, hoping for a second chance.

Embracing her tightly, Michael murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Dulce wasn’t sure why he was apologizing, but the urge to weep was overwhelming. She was deeply drawn to Michael—his profound warmth, his restraint, his thoughtfulness, his passionate nature, and even his blunt honesty when he claimed he didn’t love her. Yet, he remained guarded, never sharing his true feelings with her.

Overwhelmed, Dulce wept until sleep took her.

Michael gently laid her down, placed a glass of water beside the bed, covered her carefully, and lingered with his gaze on her peaceful face before stepping out quietly.

The next morning, Dulce’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself in a room that felt both familiar and strange.

Wasn’t this Michael’s place?

Why was she here?

Dulce hastily pulled back the covers to ensure her clothes were intact. Relieved, she realized nothing untoward had happened after the drinks. As she was piecing together the fragments of the previous evening, Michael entered the room, inquiring, “Feeling a headache?”

Dulce looked at him with confusion. “Why am I here?”

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