"I said, get out of my house!" I shouted, my voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.
She dropped to her knees immediately, hands pressed together as if praying.
"Michael, believe me, I didn't cheat on you," she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I stared at her, disbelief and rage coiling in my chest. "Wow… I caught you in bed with another man, and you still deny it?"
"He… he wanted to… he wanted to rape me. I was struggling to defend myself," she stammered, trembling from head to toe.
"Kate… do you know how long I stood there, watching you moan like a fool, pretending it was something else, and you still told him I was horrible in bed?" I snapped.
"That… that moan… that sound… it's my way of shouting for help," she whispered.
I shook my head. "I don't ever want to see you step foot in this house again." I turned, leaving her kneeling.
But she didn't stay down. She ran after me.
"Michael, please… just one chance to explain," she begged.
"I'm done with you, Kate. I never loved you. I was only trying to convince myself that maybe not all women are the same. But you… you're exactly like the rest. Selfish. Manipulative. Weak."
Her face twisted with anger. "And I was just managing you for your money! You're horrible in bed. Your breath stinks in the morning. I don't like you!"
I laughed, cold and merciless. "Then that settles it. A stinking mouth and a sex worker will never make a good marriage."
She froze, regret flashing across her face.
Six months. Six months I thought she was different. I thought maybe she was the one. I was wrong.
I vowed I would never take a woman seriously again.
---
The house was silent after she left. The faint echo of her sobs clung to the walls.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey, letting the burn settle in my chest. I didn't want to feel numb—I wanted to feel nothing.
Kate's pleading eyes lingered in my mind longer than I liked. How easy it had been to be deceived, how quickly I had let my guard down.
I had learned long ago that women were dangerous. Their smiles were traps. Their voices weapons. Love was a liability. I had tried it once, and it had burned me.
My phone buzzed. A text from my assistant: Meeting at nine tomorrow. The Johnson contract needs final approval.
I set the glass down and typed back: Understood.
Business never cried. Business never begged. Business never broke your heart.
---
By the time I reached my bedroom, night had swallowed the city. The darkness was my only companion. My sanctuary. My cage.
I stripped out of my suit and left the tie on the chair. Comfort meant nothing. I wanted emptiness.
Even in that emptiness, there were thoughts. Thoughts of Kate. Thoughts of all the women who had tried to make me something I wasn't. Weak. Vulnerable. Human.
I had been born into power, trained to take what I wanted, yet never taught to protect my heart. That was my choice. That was my curse.
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the city breathed, oblivious to the pain of one man. I wasn't lonely—I had chosen solitude—but even a man like me could feel the hollowness creeping in.
I had built walls around my heart so high that no woman could climb them. And yet, for a fleeting moment, Kate had slipped past those walls. Just enough to remind me I was capable of feeling… and hating myself for it.
I reached for my phone, scrolling through contracts, numbers, updates. Work never cried. Work never begged. Work never broke your heart.
I poured another glass of whiskey and sipped slowly. I wasn't sad. I wasn't lonely. I was prepared. Ready for life as it always had been—controlled, calculated, unbroken.
The world believed Michael Kent had it all: money, women, power. And maybe I did.
But the truth was simpler. I had nothing that mattered.
Nothing except the certainty that I would never, ever let another woman make me feel weak again.
I don't think there is a woman who can make me fall in love again.