"I love you Mickey"

Part 7

Klas's pov:

I jolted awake, my heart pounding from the nightmare. Sweating and disoriented, I surveyed my surroundings-this wasn't my room. Panic set in; where was I? To my left, a shirtless figure lay asleep. In shock, I let out a scream, instinctively kicking the guy off the bed, who groaned in response.

"Who... who are you?" I stammered, fear evident in my voice. The shock intensified as the shirtless guy turned out to be Mickey. Why was he shirtless? He nonchalantly climbed back onto the bed, sitting next to me.

"While you were asleep, I got you some food. Now, eat," he said, offering me a sandwich. Skeptical about its origin, I declined, wary of potential food poisoning from a foil-wrapped sandwich. "the fuck you want me to do? buy you a steak? I ain't got no money for that?" he frowned. He extended the sandwich toward my closed mouth, but I firmly shut my lips, shaking my head. A sigh escaped him, and I could feel a growing frustration in his demeanor.

He grasped my jaw, coaxing my mouth open, and forcefully fed me a bite of the sandwich. I spat it out, witnessing Mickey clench his jaw and raise his fist, poised to strike, but he restrained himself. I flinched, meeting his gaze as he lowered his hand. "Wasting food isn't a luxury here, Klas. Your wealth doesn't grant you that privilege," he sighed, and I felt remorse for my actions. I muttered an apology, to which he simply nodded. "Any allergies to sandwiches?" he inquired, and I shook my head. He took a bite, moving nearer, and involuntarily, my mouth opened. I accepted a morsel from his mouth, my heart racing. Blushing, I chewed, eliciting a chuckle from him.

Mickey's pov:

The boy resumed eating, and my body felt sluggish, sensing a slight weight gain. Deciding to exercise while waiting for Klas to finish his sandwich, I rose from the bed, positioning myself for sit-ups, all the while feeling his gaze upon me. Glancing at him, he blushed, biting his lower lip, his blush deepening when I winked at him.

"What about the arranged marriage?" I inquired, and he recounted every detail, swiftly diverting to the night I confessed. Unwilling to hurt him, I owed him an explanation. "Klas, I don't comprehend love; it's an unfamiliar territory for me. I've never experienced it, so I can't claim to love you or not," I explained. He sighed, approaching me. "Does your heart race when you think of me?" he asked. Sometimes, yes, but that seemed normal. Shaking his head, he leaned in for a kiss, which I gently evaded. It wasn't about not wanting Klas; I needed to determine if I was worthy of him.

I carried him piggyback to the club to retrieve his car, deciding it was best to drive him home given his weakened state. Upon arriving at his vast mansion, I parked the car and opened the door for him, earning a smile from the beautiful boy. Despite my assurance that I had money for a cab, he remained concerned. We engaged in a back-and-forth argument, him wanting me to stay with the promise of sending me home later that night, but I resisted.

That's when his father approached, scrutinizing me. Unfazed, I wasn't intimidated by this man. "What are you doing with my son?" he demanded sternly, but his tone didn't rattle me. "Your son was unwell last night, and I ensured he got home, as you can see," I frowned, mirroring his seriousness. "You come back here again, I'll make your life a hell" he threatened. I scoffed, asserting, "I live life as Mickailo Ruslanov; that's already a hell, Miller," raising my brow. Eager to unsettle him, I countered with my knowledge of how the wealthy operate, exposing their illegal activities. I emphasized my role in uncovering the truth about a once-famous rich man involved in illegal works aka drugs, leaving him visibly perturbed as I smirked.

"Call me Anthony," he said. I nodded. "Anthony," I acknowledged. "Would you like to work with me? I'm impressed by your eloquence and strength," he asked, prompting Klas's face to light up as he gestured for me to agree. I looked at him, frowning-this boy was truly desperate.