Chapter 14 - Gabriel
The thing about ownership is that it’s absolute.
It isn’t a feeling. It’s a fact. It’s ink on paper and a stamp from the county clerk’s office confirming that as of an hour ago, the second the office opened, the woman sleeping in my bed became someone new.
She’s no longer Blair Ashby.
She’s Blair Hollis now.
She just doesn't have a fucking clue yet.
I stand at the foot of the bed watching her sleep. She’s napping in the glow of the Christmas tree, sprawled on her stomach, one leg kicked out from under the heavy duvet, dark hair fanned across the pillow where my head rested hours ago.
She looks peaceful. Unsuspecting.
The email from Cohen hit my phone ten minutes ago. Filing complete. Certified copies are at my office.
A sick, twisted sense of relief settles in my chest. I know exactly what I did. I tricked her. I buried a marriage license in a stack of insurance forms and played on her trust to get a signature.
Call it what you want—manipulation. Coercion. Fraud.
I don't give a fuck.
Giving her a choice meant risking a "no.
" It meant risking her pride or her trauma or that little voice in her head winning out and telling her to run.
That wasn't a risk I was willing to take.
Walking out that door and disappearing into the world where I can't protect and keep her isn't an option for her anymore.
So I took the choice away.
Now, laws bind her to me. If she tries to run, the law is on my side. If she tries to push away, I have a piece of paper that says she belongs right here.
Eventually, I slip the massive ring I had made for her onto her finger and she’ll never take it off again.
But the marriage isn't the only trap I’ve set.
My phone screen glows as I check my calendar. She’s late.
My thumb hovers over the red notification. She hasn't noticed that, either. I’ve been keeping her distracted on top of the way she’s been rebuilding the career my son destroyed and navigating the new life I forced on her. It’s all been a lot, taking up all her bandwidth.
But I noticed.
I’ve been filling her with my cum every chance I get, ensuring she stays full of me at all times.
I haven’t made it a secret what I want. Fuck, she even takes the prenatal vitamins I set out for her every day.
Dark, primal satisfaction curls in my gut.
My wife. Likely carrying my heir.
Laws and blood bind her to me, wrapping chains around her so tight she’ll never be able to breathe without me.
It’s toxic. I know it is.
But looking at her sleeping form, soft and warm, I know I’d do it again. I’d do it in every lifetime from here until the last star burns out.
I move to the side of the bed and lean down, brushing a stray hair off her cheek. She stirs, murmuring something unintelligible, and nuzzles into my hand.
"Go back to sleep, little bird," I whisper.
Leaving her there, safe in the cage I built, is the hardest thing I've done all week. But the wolves in the Hills won’t kill themselves.
Silence fills the office, the view of downtown pretty through the glass with its holiday lights and soft falling snow.
Cohen sits across the desk, looking every bit the badass lawyer he is. Files are spread out on the glass surface representing the slow, agonizing death of James Thornton’s empire.
"Thornton is getting aggressive," Cohen says, tapping a file. "He’s approaching your commercial tenants. Offering buyouts. He’s whispering in ears, Gabriel. Telling people you’re distracted. That you’re losing your edge."
"Let him whisper," I say, leaning back in the leather chair. "Let him overplay his hand. What do tenants care if I’m distracted as long as their lease terms are fulfilled?"
"He’s also talking to your son."
My eyes snap to my friend’s.
"Still?"
He nods. "He’s funding Ryder’s legal counsel. If Ryder decides to contest the disinheritance or sue for access to the trust, Thornton is going to bankroll it. He wants to use your son to bleed you dry."
Rage flares to life, hot and bright inside me.
James Thornton isn't just a rival anymore. He’s a dead man walking. Using my failure of a son as a weapon against me is a fatal mistake on his part that there’s no coming back from.
"Ryder’s going to be just as much of a disappointment to him as he is to me," I say, my voice low. "The evidence we have against him is unshakable. The theft. The embezzlement from Blair’s company. The drugs."
"It doesn't matter if he wins," Cohen points out. "It matters that he drags you into court. It matters that it’s public. It weakens your position with the board and in Emerald Hills."
I stand up and walk to the window. The town looks even smaller from up here. Like it’s insignificant.
“Let him. We both know he can’t weaken me enough to matter. But life as he knows it is coming to an end. Soon.”
My phone buzzes on the desk, and I walk over and pick it up.
It’s a priority alert from my security system at home.
Everything in the room stops.
Blair.
She left the grounds.
"Get out," I tell Cohen.
“If you’re going to be a dick, gladly.” He grins when I growl at him and then he flips me off on his way out. I know he doesn’t take it personally, not after the way he pursued his stepdaughter and then married her.
He knows this level of obsession well.
The tracking app for the trackers I put in every pair of her shoes loads. The red dot’s moving. She’s in her car. Heading into town.
Why?
She didn’t bother texting me about where she’s going.
Panic claws at my throat. I try to tell myself it’s irrational, but is it? Is she running? Did she take a pregnancy test and freak out?
She doesn’t know about the marriage yet, so she may be under the delusion that she can still escape me.
Worst-case scenarios race through my mind. She’s leaving. Going to the cops. Going back to Ryder.
The dot stops.
Zooming in reveals the location.
Buzzed. A coffee shop on the outskirts of Emerald Hills, on the Mulberry side.
Air rushes out of my lungs. Coffee. She’s getting coffee. She’s late, though. Should she have coffee if she’s pregnant?
And why the fuck didn't she tell me she was leaving?
My shaking fingers tap at the screen, accessing the remote security feed for the shop. I own the building. I own half the commercial real estate in Emerald Hills.
I pace while the grainy black-and-white footage loads.
There she is.
I blow out a slow breath as my heartrate starts to slow.
She sits at a corner table, wearing the cream coat that makes her look like an angel. Her laptop’s open on the table in front of her as she sips from an oversized ceramic mug.
She’s not alone.
A woman sits across from her. Middle-aged, dressed in a pantsuit. They’re talking. Blair gestures at the screen, smiling. She’s animated and looks happy.
She’s working.
With that realization, the last of my panic recedes, replaced by a complicated knot of pride and irritation.
She’s taking a meeting. Pitching a client. Doing exactly what she said she would do—rebuilding.
But she didn't say a word to me about any of this.
She asserted independence. Left my house, got in her car, and went into the world without checking in.
It shouldn't bother me. She’s an adult. A business owner.
But the monster inside, the one that just legally trapped her and is currently tracking her cycle while trying to knock her up, hates it. It hates that she has a life outside of this. It hates that for the last little while, thoughts of me haven't crossed her mind.
On the screen, she laughs at something the woman says.
She’s radiant.
She looks like she doesn't need me.
That’s the fear. That’s the wound that never heals. If she doesn't need me, why would she stay?
I close out of the feed.
Dragging her home isn't an option. Storming in there and demanding she return home and give up her dreams will only push her away.
The long game is the only play.
So I go and stare out the window at the glittering downtown street, pretending I’m not going to be completely unproductive today while I count the seconds until she’s back in my arms.
When she finally walks in, the house smells like rosemary and roasted chicken—the chef left half an hour ago.
"Gabriel?"
Her voice echoes through the foyer.
"Kitchen," I call back.
She walks in. Cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright.
Her bag drops on the counter and she walks straight to me. Arms wrap around my waist, face burying in my chest. She breathes me in while I hold onto her like I haven’t seen her in a year instead of just a few hours.
Fuck, I hate being away from her.
And she seems to hate it just as much if the way she’s clinging to me is any indication.
"I’ve got good news," she says, voice muffled against my shirt.
My arms wrap tighter around her, trying to absorb her into me. To make us one. Cold air clinging to her hair fills my lungs.
"The coffee shop meeting?" I ask.
She pulls back, looking up. "How did you... oh. Jaxon told you I left."
"The house tells me when the door opens, Blair."
"Right." Annoyance doesn't register. Just excitement. "It’s a local boutique chain. They want to do a holiday pop-up series. It’s perfect. It fits the new brand."
"I'm proud of you," I say.
And the words are true.
"It feels good," she admits, taking the glass of cider I offer her. "To make something happen on my own. To know that Ryder didn't destroy everything. To know I’m building up the legitimate side of the business to give cover for the other things we discussed."
She takes a sip.
Her throat works as she swallows and my hand moves up to lightly wrap around it so I can feel her pulse and the movement.
Bit by bit, I start to relax. My irrational fears retreat into the background again.
It’s clear she doesn't know. She doesn't know about the marriage.
How could she? She doesn't know about the baby that might be growing inside her.
She doesn't know that I watched her meeting on surveillance cameras today because the thought of losing her makes me physically ill.
"He can’t destroy you," I say. "You’re too incredible for that. My son just cleared the way for something better."
She smiles. "For you?"
"For us."
Dinner happens at the island. She talks about the project, about her ideas for this but also for the Savage Society. She hasn’t signed anything official yet, but after the holidays I’ll make it happen. Listening is easy because she’s so passionate. Her whole aura lights up like a star.
Later, in bed, she curls into my side.
Darkness fills the room outside of the glow from the Christmas tree.
Sleep takes her quickly, and while I don’t know for sure there’s a baby, she’s starting to sleep more. But I stay awake.
My arm wraps around her waist, hand resting flat on her stomach.
Is it there? A cluster of cells sharing my DNA?
If she’s pregnant, there really is no getting away from me. Taking my child away won't be an option.
But if she’s not...
Fear coils around my spine like a snake made of ice.
If she’s not pregnant, and the marriage license comes to light... she might run. Fast and far.
I pull her closer, burying my nose in her hair.
"You belong to me, little bird," I whisper into her hair. "You don't get to leave."
Everything I wanted is within reach. She’s my wife and quite possibly carrying my child.
But it’s not enough.
It never is.
My eyes close, but sleep refuses to come. Holding her, counting her breaths, waiting for the other shoe to drop becomes my sole focus.
Because in my experience, the other shoe always drops. And usually, it’s got a steel fucking toe.