Chapter 879: Chapter 879



“No.”

Even though he had seen it before, Michael played the last episode for her. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get us some snacks.”

At the fridge, he hesitated over a half-box of cherries but decided against it.

This time, they settled on the carpet, the room dim except for the flickering TV light illuminating their faces intermittently.

They made a playful pact—Michael would drink every time Judie or Mayer appeared on-screen.

Eventually, Michael lost track of his drinks, and by the time Dulce attempted to count, the bottles were empty.

Michael, not usually one to overindulge, showed clear signs of inebriation—his cheeks were flushed, his eyes slightly glazed.

“Are you drunk?”

Dulce playfully waved her hand before his eyes, and he denied it.

Holding up eight fingers, she challenged him. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Michael abruptly caught her hand. “No tests needed—I’m not drunk yet.”

Dulce’s pulse quickened, though she maintained her composure. “Well, then, let’s continue!”

It wasn’t long before Michael lay his head down on the sofa arm, drifting into sleep.

“Dulce…” he whispered faintly. He was definitely drunk.

Dulce didn’t feel like guessing whether Michael was genuinely asleep or merely pretending. The solitude of being the only one awake weighed heavily on her. She switched off the TV, fetched a blanket from across the room, and draped it gently over Michael.

Driven by a mix of curiosity and competitiveness, she couldn’t help but prod Michael’s cheek lightly. “Hey?”

Michael scowled and muttered under his breath, clearly not fond of being touched on the face.

Crouching before him, Dulce inquired playfully, “Michael, do you want to head to your room to sleep?”

His face glowed a rosy pink as he murmured something indistinct. Resting her chin on her hand, Dulce couldn’t resist teasing him. “Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll help you to your room.”

In an unexpected turn, Michael’s eyes snapped open, startlingly lucid. Before Dulce could pull back, he reached out, clasping the back of her head, and drew her close.

Dulce found herself off-balance, kneeling on one knee with one hand bracing against the floor and the other pressed against his chest. Despite her attempts to withdraw, his strength easily overpowered hers.

“Beg who?” he slurred slightly, his intentions blurry from intoxication. Michael’s close proximity revealed Dulce’s bold façade, but up close, he could see the nervousness flickering behind her eyes.

“Who am I to beg?” Dulce challenged, her eyes bright—perhaps from their nearness or the heightened emotions stirred by the night’s escapades. Michael, still under the influence, noticed not only her apprehension but also an eager anticipation in her gaze.

“Dulce,” Michael uttered, his voice steady and clear. He was certain of Dulce’s presence.

Disbelief flashed across Dulce’s face. “Are you sure you’re drunk?”

Michael, slightly amused and fueled by alcohol, pulled her closer until his breath tickled her ear. The warmth of his breath made her momentarily forget her question, her mind swirling with both caution and anticipation.

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