Chapter 2: Red Flags

The sun was setting as Amelia stood by her apartment window, watching the colors fade into twilight. Her heart raced, a mix of excitement and dread swirling in her chest as she waited for Michael to arrive. The events of the previous night had left her shaken, but Michael's apologies and charm had smoothed over her fears, at least on the surface. Tonight was their first official date, and Amelia hoped it would be a chance to start fresh.

At precisely seven o'clock, the sharp sound of a car horn pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced out the window to see Michael's sleek black car parked below, his figure visible through the tinted glass. He didn't get out to greet her, just sat there waiting, the engine idling softly. Amelia felt a pang of disappointment but quickly dismissed it. She grabbed her coat and purse, then hurried downstairs.

When she slid into the passenger seat, Michael turned to her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice low and smooth.

"Thank you," Amelia replied, forcing a smile of her own as she buckled her seatbelt. She could feel a tension in the air, an undercurrent of something she couldn't quite place. But Michael seemed relaxed, his hands steady on the steering wheel as he pulled away from the curb.

The ride was quiet, with Michael occasionally glancing over at her, his gaze intense. "I've made reservations at my favorite restaurant," he said after a few minutes, breaking the silence. "I think you'll love it."

Amelia nodded, trying to focus on the positives. She wanted to believe that tonight would be different, that the unease she felt was just nerves and nothing more. But as they drove further into the city, she noticed how Michael's hand would tighten on the wheel whenever she mentioned her work or her friends. It was subtle, but enough to send a ripple of unease through her.

They arrived at an upscale restaurant nestled in a quiet, affluent part of the city. Michael parked and came around to open her door, his hand extending to help her out. Amelia took it, grateful for the gentlemanly gesture, though the earlier tension hadn't left her.

Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit, the tables set with pristine white linens and flickering candles. The ambiance was romantic, almost too perfect, and Amelia felt a little out of place among the wealthy patrons. Michael, however, seemed right at home. He guided her to a secluded corner table, pulling out her chair for her before taking his own seat.

The waiter appeared almost immediately, and Michael ordered for both of them without consulting her, choosing an expensive bottle of wine and the chef's special. Amelia felt a twinge of discomfort—she wasn't used to someone making decisions for her like that. But she brushed it off, telling herself it was just his way of being considerate.

As they waited for their food, Michael turned his full attention to her, his gaze never leaving her face. "Tell me more about your day," he prompted, leaning in as if eager to hear every detail.

Amelia began talking about her work, trying to keep the conversation light, but she quickly noticed Michael's expression hardening. His smile faded, replaced by a look of irritation.

"Your boss makes you stay late again?" he asked, his voice sharp.

Amelia hesitated, sensing the change in his demeanor. "Just a little. There was a deadline, and I needed to finish a project."

Michael's jaw tightened, his fingers drumming on the table. "You know, Amelia, you're too valuable to be wasting your time like that. You should be focusing on bigger things, not running yourself ragged for some ungrateful company."

"I like my job," Amelia said softly, trying to defuse the tension. "It's challenging, but rewarding."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Challenging? Or are they just taking advantage of you?"

Amelia opened her mouth to respond, but Michael didn't give her a chance. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You deserve better, Amelia. Someone who sees your true worth. Not some middle manager who treats you like a replaceable cog."

His words, though meant to be flattering, felt more like a reprimand. Amelia felt her stomach knot as she tried to navigate the conversation without setting him off. "I appreciate that, Michael. But I think—"

"Do you?" he interrupted, his tone growing colder. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're just letting them walk all over you."

The accusation stung, and Amelia felt a rush of defensiveness. "It's not like that," she insisted. "I'm good at my job, and I enjoy it. Not everything is about money or status."

Michael's eyes darkened, his smile turning into something that resembled a sneer. "That's where you're wrong, Amelia. Everything is about power. And right now, you're giving yours away for free."

Before Amelia could respond, the waiter arrived with their wine, breaking the tension momentarily. Michael's smile returned as he thanked the waiter and poured them each a glass, but the look in his eyes hadn't softened.

"To new beginnings," Michael said, raising his glass in a toast. Amelia forced a smile and clinked her glass against his, but the wine tasted bitter on her tongue.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of strained conversation. Michael dominated the discussion, his words laced with thinly veiled criticism and pointed questions. Whenever Amelia tried to steer the conversation to something lighter, he would circle back to topics that made her uncomfortable—her job, her friends, her future. It felt less like a date and more like an interrogation.

By the time dessert arrived, Amelia was emotionally drained. She could feel the weight of Michael's expectations pressing down on her, suffocating any sense of enjoyment she might have had. She wanted to leave, to go home and hide away from the intensity of his gaze, but she couldn't find a way to end the night without provoking his anger.

As they waited for the check, Michael reached across the table and took her hand in his. His grip was firm, almost too tight, and when Amelia tried to gently pull away, he held on, his eyes locking onto hers.

"You know, Amelia," he began, his voice soft but edged with steel, "I don't like it when people ignore my advice. Especially people I care about."

Amelia's heart skipped a beat. "I'm not ignoring you, Michael," she said quickly. "I just—"

"You are," he cut her off, his tone sharp. "And it's going to get you into trouble. I'm only trying to protect you."

The way he said the word "protect" sent a shiver down her spine. There was something possessive, almost threatening, in his voice, and for the first time, Amelia felt a genuine surge of fear.

"Michael, I—" She tried to pull her hand away again, but he tightened his grip, his thumb pressing into her wrist.

"Don't argue with me, Amelia," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I'm only going to say this once: if you keep letting people walk all over you, you'll end up with nothing. And I won't let that happen. Do you understand?"

Amelia nodded, too frightened to do anything else. She could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers, and the room seemed to close in around her. "I understand," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Michael's expression softened, but only slightly. He released her hand, but not before giving her wrist a final, painful squeeze. "Good," he said, his smile returning. "I'm glad we see eye to eye."

The waiter returned with the check, and Michael paid without a word, his mood seemingly lightened. But as they left the restaurant and headed back to his car, Amelia felt a heavy sense of dread settling in her chest. The night hadn't gone at all as she'd hoped. Instead of the romantic evening she'd imagined, she'd been left feeling trapped and powerless.

When they arrived back at her apartment, Michael walked her to the door, his hand on the small of her back once more. The touch, which had seemed protective the night before, now felt like a shackle. Amelia fumbled with her keys, eager to get inside and away from him, but Michael took the keys from her and unlocked the door himself.

He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. "I had a good time tonight," he said, his voice deceptively soft.

"Me too," Amelia lied, her voice barely audible.

Michael's hand reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin. "You're important to me, Amelia," he murmured, his gaze intense. "I want what's best for you. Don't forget that."

Amelia nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "I won't," she promised, though the words felt hollow.

Satisfied, Michael leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, lingering just long enough to leave her breathless. When he pulled away, his smile was back, but there was a glint in his eyes that made her skin crawl.

"I'll see you soon," he said, handing her the keys.

Amelia forced a smile and took them, her fingers trembling as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it as she heard Michael's footsteps retreat down the hall.

Once she was alone, Amelia's legs gave out, and she slid to the floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She glanced down at her wrist, where Michael's fingers had left red marks against her skin. The sight made her stomach turn, and she fought back the urge to cry.

She knew something was terribly wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to walk away. Michael had a hold on her, a power she couldn't quite understand but felt deep in her bones. And as much as she wanted to, she couldn't shake the fear that if she left, she'd be throwing away something important.

But as she sat there in the dark, the red flags were impossible to ignore. Michael's charm had a razor's edge, and every time she tried to pull away, it cut a little deeper. She was already in too deep, and the way out seemed further away with every passing moment.