Out of Reach | Mikhaiah

Chapter 32

Disclaimer: This is pure fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are purely coincidental. Read, enjoy, and don't take it too seriously!

— ✦ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 ✦ —

Arisha’s POV:

Ugh. I hate this.

Stazia groaned dramatically before throwing a pile of clothes onto the couch.

"I don’t like any of these! Bring me another set of designs!" she huffed, crossing her arms like an impatient diva.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Calm down, Staz."

"Ari, babe, you should not be here! Kakagaling mo lang sa hospital, hello?" she scolded, eyes narrowing at me like a strict mom.

"I'm fine, Staz," I reassured her, forcing a small smile. "And besides, I have a lot of things to do pa."

She rolled her eyes, clearly unconvinced. "Tsk, bahala ka. But anyway, about dun sa mga nag-kidnap sa’yo—anong update?" she asked, her voice lowering slightly.

I froze for a split second.

They didn’t know. None of them did.

All they knew was how Mikhazra saved me. How she protected me.

I exhaled sharply. "I don’t know, Staz. Wala akong update. Dad isn’t telling me anything," I admitted, leaning against the couch.

She scoffed, flipping her hair dramatically. "Ari, babe, dapat talaga mahuli na sila! Like, if they just want money—hella, we can give it to them! And duh, your suitor is Mikhazra Kamizaki," she said, rolling her eyes.

My suitor.

The words still felt so unreal.

Never in a million years did I think we’d end up like this. Back then, all I had was anger. Pure, unfiltered rage.

But was it really just that?

Stazia’s expression softened as she placed a hand over mine. "Ari, babe, we're always here for you, okay?"

I nodded, exhaling. "Okay, Staz. Thank you. Let’s start na."

Finally, we were called in. The photoshoot began, and everything went smoothly.

For the last segment, we had to wear bolder, sexier outfits. The brand we were endorsing wanted power—confidence.

The moment we wrapped up, I felt the shift in the atmosphere.

The room fell eerily silent.

Whispers.

Lingering gazes.

Then—

I saw her.

Mikhazra.

Holding a bathrobe.

She walked in—slow, calculated, commanding.

"Wow, the suitor is here," Stazia teased, smirking.

But I barely heard her.

My attention was locked onto her.

She was wearing a simple white shirt, nothing extravagant—yet somehow, she looked effortlessly gorgeous. The contrast against her deep red hair made her presence even more striking.

Then, without a word—

She reached me.

And gently, she draped the bathrobe over my shoulders.