Chapter 107: Morning Reckoning 2

Micah’s POV

"Do you seriously think I’d ever let you suffer?" Noah demanded, his voice rising with a dangerous, dark edge that made the room feel instantly smaller. "You’re mine, Micah. Do you understand that? You’re mine! I will never let you suffer, and I will damn sure never let you work hard... especially not by dancing or playing dress-up for some sicko in a club!"

He slammed his palm down onto the mattress right beside my head, his chest heaving as he stared down at me with raw, terrifying authority.

"Whatever I own is yours," Noah growled softly into the silence. "Every single cent. Every piece of property. It’s all yours."

"Noah..." I whimpered, my chest rising and falling rapidly under his overwhelming presence.

"Don’t play games with me, Micah," he warned, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper that sent shivers straight down my spine. "Don’t force my hand. Don’t make me lock you up in this room for real. So be a good boy and listen to everything I say from now on, okay?"

I couldn’t even form proper words. I just nodded desperately against the pillow. "Okay..."

Noah stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, watching the way I trembled beneath him. Slowly, agonizingly, he leaned lower. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he brushed his lips gently against the side of my face, trailing a burning path of heat right beside my mouth.

I felt his hot, steady breath fanning over my flushed skin, and I almost stopped breathing entirely when he pressed a soft, lingering kiss right against the corner of my mouth.

My heart hammered like a wild drum inside my ribs. Down below, my dick twitched helplessly inside my silk nightwear—a pair of clothes I had zero recollection of putting on. Did Noah change me last night while I was unconscious? The thought alone made my entire body go numb with heat.

Noah pulled back just an inch, his heavy blue eyes searching my face one last time before he finally shifted his weight off me and stood up from the bed.

"Go dress up," Noah ordered, his tone returning to its usual cold, commanding edge. "I’m dropping you off at school today."

I wanted to reject his offer. I wanted to tell him I could walk or take a cab, but the look in his eyes told me that arguing would only get me pinned back down onto that bed. Without saying another word, I scrambled off the mattress, hurried to the bathroom, and began dressing.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting silently in the passenger seat of Noah’s sleek black car.

The drive to school was suffocating. Neither of us spoke a single word. Noah drove with one hand casually resting on the steering wheel, looking completely calm and indifferent, while I sat stiffly in my seat, clutching my school bag against my stomach like a shield. My mind was spinning with endless questions. What happened after I blacked out last night? How did Damon react? Why did Noah look so unbothered after everything that went down in that room?

When the car finally pulled up near the main gates of our academy, my jaw dropped in utter disbelief.

"What the..." I whispered, leaning forward against the dashboard.

The entire front entrance of the school was swarming with people. Dozens of news vans were parked along the curb, their bright satellite lights flashing. Microphones, massive broadcast cameras, and shouting reporters were crowded around the gates, completely blocking the path for arriving students. Security guards were desperately trying to hold the aggressive mob back.

Why were there reporters at our school? What was going on?

I turned my head quickly to look at Noah, expecting him to be surprised or annoyed by the chaos.

He wasn’t fazed at all. His expression remained totally stoic, as if he had anticipated this exact circus before we even left the house. He slowly pulled out his smartphone, tapped the screen, and opened the morning news bulletin.

Curious and terrified, I leaned over to look at his phone screen.

The second the article loaded, my eyes widened in absolute horror. My stomach dropped straight to my feet.

Right there on the screen was a graphic, high-resolution photograph of George Jenson. He was slumped against a hospital gurney, his face beaten to a bloody pulp, his eyes swollen shut, and his hands heavily bandaged and mangled.

The blazing red headline above the photo read: CAPTAIN OF RIVAL HOCKEY TEAM HOSPITALIZED AFTER BRUTAL ASSAULT – ALL TEN FINGERS SHATTERED.

I couldn’t breathe. The air was completely sucked out of my lungs as my mind reeled back to last night—to George putting his hands on me, and then Noah barging through the door with that terrifying, bloodthirsty look in his eyes.

"You... you did that to George Jenson?" I stuttered, my voice barely a squeak as panic clawed at my throat.

Noah didn’t look at me. He just stared down at the phone screen, his expression icy and unreadable.

"No," Noah replied coldly.

A massive wave of relief washed over me for a split second. I let out a shaky breath, pressing my hand against my beating chest. Okay. Thank God. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe someone else had attacked George after we left, or maybe someone was trying to frame Noah for what happened at the club—

"I only broke eight fingers, not all ten," Noah corrected smoothly, his voice completely flat as he locked his phone screen and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. "The other two must have been broken by someone else after I left or it was a lie to set me up."

My heart instantly went back to racing at a dangerous, violent speed.

My mind went completely blank as I stared at Noah’s calm side profile. He said it so casually, so nonchalantly, as if he were discussing the weather rather than admitting to brutally mutilating the captain of a rival hockey team.

He really did that. He dragged George Jenson into a living nightmare and shattered his hands... all because George dared to lay a finger on me.