*One hour earlier*
I can't believe I got that job! It wasn't perfect of course, but it was close to Los Olivos, the payment was acceptable and my new boss was the sweetest person ever. Even though both my parents and auntie Dorothy had warned me about taking a job like that, I wanted to give it a try. I knew perfectly well that working with families in different kinds of crisis situations could be challenging, so I didn't expect anything else. I still wanted to help.
I had just sat down in the living room with a glass of soda and my favorite ice-cream, ready to binge watch some crappy sitcom until Michael came back. The remote was in my hand and my legs were curled up underneath a blanket, and I was sending random texts to Benjamin, telling him about my new job. He was probably even more excited than me.
A sound from the hall caught my attention. As far as I knew Michael didn't have any guests over, and both his maid and his chef left half an hour ago. The only ones there were the security team, and they came in to check on me once every hour in addition to patrolling the property and keeping an eye on the surveillance cameras. It had almost become a routine now. Utterly and completely insane if you ask me, but brutally necessary.
"Michael?" I asked, thinking it had to be him. Who else could it be? The place was a fort.
"Michael? Is that you?"
I got up and put the ice-cream on the table. There was that sound again, followed by silent footsteps that came to a halt. And when I turned around, my eyes fell upon someone who unfortunately was very familiar.
"Veronica?"
"Missed me?" she snickered, and stepped further into the room.
"Not really," I mumbled, and took a step back. The blood felt like ice in my veins, and my body reacted to everything in slow motion. "How'd you get in?"
"Oh, the way I always do. Those stupid security guards haven't found my secret escape through the fence. But I mean, I didn't expect them to either. I did a pretty good job camouflaging it."
She seemed disgustingly proud of herself and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I was just too scared to take my eyes off her to even blink.
"I'm impressed," I said dryly, and made sure she got the sarcasm. "But the door was locked."
She raised her hand so suddenly that I ducked, thinking that it was a gun. It wasn't. It was a key.
"I used to work here, duh. Until you came and ruined it all. But that's your thing, isn't it? To ruin everything?"
She didn't really wait for my reply. Her mind was obviously back to the night where Ryan's dad threatened to kill me, and it was clear that she had a happier memory of it than I did.
"That poor man... What happened to him, by the way?"
"Behind bars. And if you don't get out, I'll make sure you'll join him."
"Right," she dragged, and unlike me, she did roll her eyes to get the dramatic effect she obviously loved.
"What do you want, Veronica?" I snapped. I was getting angry now, and I wasn't sure how smart that was. Especially since I didn't know if she had any weapon.
"To get my old life back!"
"And how the hell are you gonna do that, when I didn't take it?" I yelled back. I was getting tired of this.
"But you did! We were going to get married and have babies, and I was going to live here and be with him..."
"You're delusional! Michael never had any interest in you like that. He said so himself!"
We were slowly stepping closer until we were face to face in the middle of the living room, screaming at each other's faces like roaring lionesses.
"You don't get it, you stupid bitch! After you came along, Michael stopped talking to me. It was like I wasn't even there, and..."
"Maybe it was because there wasn't anything there to begin with?" I cut in, and I could see the rage flare in her eyes. If she did have any weapon, she would most definitely pull it up by now. But there was none. Just insulting words and empty threats.
"You don't even know what you're talking about!" she whined, and her voice sounded so shrill and loud that it hurt my ears.
"Maybe not. But I know for sure that you don't belong here. Get out!"
I pointed at the door, but was met by an even angrier glare from her. She challenged me. She challenged me, and I wasn't even scared anymore. I was just so unbelievably angry at this woman, who now looked like she was about to punch me.
But I beat her to it. Literally.
I hit Veronica. I hit her right in the face and it felt so...
"FUCK, THAT HURT!" I yelled in pain. I swear it felt like my fist broke. But the way Veronica cried like a dying pig made it all worth it.
"You hit me! You fucking whore!" she screamed and held her nose. Blood was already dripping from her hand and chin, but she was too furious at me to bother wiping it away. Instead we circled each other and tried to commit verbalized homicide, until she jumped at me and wrapped her arm around my throat.
"Get off me, bitch!" I yelled, and drove my elbow hard into her stomach, which caused her to groan when she lost her breath. And while she was staggering around a bit, visibly dizzy, I punched her a second time.
"Fuck!" I cried out again, probably just as loud as Veronica who fell backwards and crashed her shoulder into the coffee table. She tried to get up, but I grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the ground.
"Stop hitting me!" Veronica whimpered and tried to dodge my next hit. But I was on top of her now, and all my pent up anger and frustration came out at once, possessing my arms to beat the crap out of the woman who had caused me so much anxiety. But not anymore!
"I would if you did what I fucking told you to, and leave!" I hissed through my teeth, breathing in staccato between the punches. Until I felt two arms wrap around my waist and pull me away.
"Mia! Stop! She's had enough!"
"No!" I protested and tried to wiggle out of this person's grip, until I realized who it was. It was Michael. And to say he was shocked was a very mild understatement.
"Bill!" he yelled, calling for assistance, but he kept holding me tightly and at a safe distance from a sobbing Veronica.
"She punched me! She punched my nose!"
"And I should have choked you as well, because your voice..."
"Mia! It's enough!" Michael cut in, before I could verbalize any more of my anger. And while he escorted me to the kitchen, Bill and Ole-Knut took care of Veronica.
"They better throw that bitch into jail!" I yelled after them, and the last thing I saw of her was a blood smeared face, sticky, tangled hair, a busted lip and eyes that were swollen, confused and bloodshot.
"Oh, they'll have her locked up for sure," Michael mumbled under his breath. Then he added: "For her own safety."
He placed me on a chair and ran to get the first aid kit, while I was left to myself for a moment long enough to realize what I just did.
"Oh, my God... I punched her."
Then Michael came back and I stared at him.
"I punched her, Michael. Holy smokes!"
"You sure did," he chuckled and shook his head. "And now I don't know who I should be more afraid of."
I stuck out my tongue at him and pretended to still be mad. But I wasn't. I just felt this incredible relief, like I was finally cut loose from the chains that had been holding me down for so long.
"I don't know who that woman thinks she is? Like, seriously? What did she not understand when I said 'get out'? She must have a couple of screws loose, because she's slower than DeeVana in the morning. And she's a freaking sloth!"
Michael kept chuckling while he opened the first aid kit. Then he put different kinds of band aids, bandages, cotton swabs, sterilized water and a tweezer out on the kitchen counter next to where I was sitting.
"After tonight she probably has the whole tool box loose, thanks to you."
I snickered and studied my bruised and partially bleeding knuckles. Then I tried clenching my fist, and my stomach twisted in pain.
"Oh, hell... I didn't know it hurt this bad to punch someone."
Michael didn't answer. He was busy trying to make me sit still so he could clean my wounds.
"But boy, how good it felt to kick her ass!"
"Remind me to never piss you off," he mumbled.
"Pff... I would never d... OW! That hurts, dammit!" I exclaimed, when he pushed the tweezer a little too hard against my skin.
"Stop moving around and it won't hurt as much," he demanded, and I pursed my lips and tried to be brave.
"Easy for you to say."
Michael looked up for a moment before he continued. Then his eyes went wide and darted right back up.
"Great goodness, babe! Your face is bleeding, too."
"It is?"
I tried to feel with my fingers and quickly established that it wasn't a nose bleed.
"Did she scratch you with her nails or something? It looks like you fought with a cat."
"I don't know. Maybe she did? I was too busy rearranging her face to notice. But it's starting to catch up on me now that I'm not all hyped up on adrenaline anymore. It hurts more and more."
He cleaned the scratch marks that went from my ear and along my jaw, almost all the way to my chin, and put on some ointment to make it heal faster. Then he continued with my hands. And after ten minutes or so, he clapped his hands together and admired his work.
"As good as new."
I grinned at him and he ruffled my hair, which caused me to growl a threat. It didn't have the effect I wanted, though. Quite the opposite actually. But we let the underlying tension be, and focused on the groceries that were spread all over the floor. And even though I couldn't help much with two bandaged hands, we decided to get started with the dinner.
"You know..." I started, while I dangled my feet off the kitchen counter. Sitting like this gave me a unique opportunity to shamelessly admire my favorite man, when he maneuvered ever so smoothly around. "I have to admit that I had my doubts."
"Oh? How come?"
A loose curl danced in front of his face while he stirred the gravy.
"I thought you were lying when you said you could cook filet mignon."
His eyes flickered a bit before he gave me a strange smile.
"Lying? Nooo... I never lie."
I shrugged.
"I mean, why would you even need to cook at all? You have way too much to do, and you have money to pay for your own chef. I mean, burning stuff in the kitchen shouldn't be your first priority, even if you do it for me."
"Burning?" he said, and raised his eyebrow suspiciously.
"Yeah..."
I looked at the pan with the meat that was supposed to rest before eating. It was not only resting.
"What the...? Oh, come on!" Michael exclaimed and grabbed the frying pan. But instead of doing the most logical thing, which would be to put the meat on a plate or something similar, he tried to blow on it, and I was almost choking with laughter.
"Stop laughing and help me!" he yelled, super-stressed. But then he changed his mind and looked like he was thinking about something.
"No. Just sit right there."
And then he did something I didn't expect at all. He saved it. Like a true superhero, he scraped off the ash and managed to save our dinner, before he put the potatoes and vegetables on plates together with the filet mignon. Then topped it all with deliciously smelling gravy, filled up one glass of wine each, and gave me a proud, and dare I say relieved, grin.
"Dinner is served, Mia. Now, go and sit down, because daddy's gonna feed you."