Chapter 5 Wild night
Daphne hated that Michael never reacted.
He stood behind her with that calm face, that steady posture, that quiet patience that made her feel like she was the one losing. So she told her friends he was nothing. Just hired muscle. A fridge with legs. A man who followed orders because Alasdair paid him to.
Her friends looked at him with quick interest, then lost it again because Daphne made sure they did. She rolled her eyes whenever he stepped close. She told them he barely spoke. She acted like he irritated her by breathing.
But the truth was simpler.
He did not break.
And it got under her skin.
The next test came on Friday evening. A party across town. Nothing important, but she dressed like it mattered because she liked the way attention made Michael twitch. She caught him glancing at her heels, the short dress, the thin straps. He looked like he wanted to say something but swallowed it.
Good.
She tossed him the keys.
He caught them without blinking.
The drive was slow. He drove carefully, both hands on the wheel. She leaned back and pretended to be bored, though her pulse kicked every time he glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She told herself it was an annoyance. Nothing else. Never anything else.
When they arrived, she stepped out without looking at him.
"Stay here," she said.
Her voice was flat.
She walked away before he could respond.
Four hours passed.
The night turned cold. Her phone buzzed with gossip, photos, and noise. She ignored Michael the whole time. She made him wait on the curb, like a guard dog, watching the front gate and the shadows. She thought it would irritate him.
When she finally left the party, she spotted him right away.
Still there.
Still watching.
Like the dark didn't touch him.
She pretended she didn't know and headed straight for the street. A stranger’s car rolled up, slow and smooth. Music thumped from the inside. The guy leaned out the window with a smile that meant trouble. Daphne stepped toward it because she could. Because no one ever told her no.
Except him.
Michael moved fast and quietly, like he had been waiting for this moment. His hand wrapped around her arm, firm but not painful.
"You are not getting in that car."
She spun on him.
"Don't touch me."
"You do not know him."
"That is the point."
His jaw tensed.
The stranger drove away when he saw Michael’s expression.
Coward.
Daphne yanked her arm back and walked toward the parking lot.
Michael followed without a word.
She hated the silence.
She hated that he did the right thing.
She hated that a small part of her felt safer with him near.
The next test came the next morning.
A grocery run. She did not need anything. She wanted to see how far she could push him. Inside the store, she filled the cart with things she did not plan to buy. She took her time choosing items she did not want. When she got bored, she shoved the cart too hard. It rolled across the parking lot and hit the side of a luxury car.
The alarm screamed.
She looked at Michael.
"Handle it."
He exhaled once. Not loud, not dramatic.
Just a quiet acceptance of chaos.
While he spoke to the furious owner, Daphne leaned on a pillar and watched. He stayed polite. Calm. Efficient. He settled it in minutes. She expected him to glare at her after, but he only walked over and said, "We are leaving."
She almost wanted him to explode.
That would have been easier.
On the way back to the car, her heel slipped on a curb and she went down hard. Her knee scraped the pavement, blood rising in a thin red line. Pain flared through her leg, sharp and humiliating.
Michael knelt beside her before she could get up.
"Let me see."
"Do not touch me."
"It could be worse."
"It is nothing." Her voice shook from embarrassment, not pain. "I said I am fine."
"You are bleeding."
"So what?"
He looked at her for a long second, then stood. He offered his hand. She refused it. She got up on her own and limped to the car.
He opened the passenger door.
She hated how gentle that small act felt.
Back at the estate, she shut herself in her room and told herself she was annoyed. That was the only word she allowed. Not shaken. Not tired. Not anything else.
Annoyed.
But when night came, her chest tightened without warning. Her breath turned thin. The room felt too quiet. Too dark. Her thoughts spun in circles she did not want to name.
She fell asleep fast.
Too fast.
The dream dragged her under.
Her mother stood at the door again.
Her coat was half on.
Her hand was on the handle.
She was leaving.
Always leaving.
Little Daphne’s voice cracked as she called out.
Her mother did not turn around.
The door opened.
Cold air rushed in.
Two men stepped from behind her mother, faces shadowed.
Big hands.
Dark clothes.
She tried to run but someone grabbed her small wrist.
Her fingers slipped.
Her body was dragged.
She screamed.
Darkness swallowed her.
The rest never came.
She woke up choking on a sob, drenched in sweat, her throat raw like she had been screaming for real.
A loud bang hit her door.
Then another.
"Daphne."
Michael’s voice was sharp with alarm.
She pushed her hair from her face, forcing air into her lungs.
"I am fine."
Her voice cracked and she cursed herself for it.
"Daphne. Open the door."
"I said I am fine."
She stood and wiped her face. The shaking would not stop. She hated that most of all. She unlocked the door and opened it a little. Michael stood on the other side, chest rising hard like he had sprinted.
He studied her face.
She felt stripped bare.
"Something happened," he said.
"Nothing happened."
"You were screaming."
"I had a dream." She forced her voice steady. "It happens."
He did not move. He did not look convinced.
"I am fine, Michael."
He kept staring.
Not with pity.
With something tighter. Sharper.
Concern became solid.
She hated it.
Or she pretended she did.
"Go back to your post," she muttered.
He did not move for a long moment.
Then he stepped back.
Her hand lingered on the doorknob. She wanted the door shut between them but could not make herself close it. Something in her chest twisted, angry and scared.
"Goodnight," she said softly.
He did not believe her when he answered.
"Goodnight, Daphne."
She shut the door.
But she heard him stay on the other side.
Guarding.
Waiting.
Not breaking.
And it made her chest ache in a way she did not understand
The last thing she heard before she drifted back to sleep was his quiet voice outside the door.
"I know you are not fine."
Her eyes snapped open.
She hated him.
But she hated even more that he was right.
