Chapter 16 - Gabriel
There’s a specific kind of silence that follows a declaration of war.
It isn't peaceful. The heavy, suffocating pressure resembles the air before a tornado touches down, sucking the oxygen out of the room until only the threat remains.
The sterile hospital hallway hums with the irritating buzz of fluorescent bulbs. Through the glass window of the room, Blair is visible. She’s awake, staring at the ceiling, her hand resting over her stomach.
She’s my wife.
She’s pregnant with my heir.
And my son tried to kill her because he’s a weak, pathetic waste of life who couldn’t handle that she wasn’t falling apart over losing him.
"Tell me it's done," I say into the phone, keeping my voice devoid of inflection.
"It's done," Cohen answers. The click of a keyboard sounds on his end.
"The forensic accounting on the theft is finished. The dossier on his gambling debts is compiled. We’ve got the affidavits from a half dozen of the women he took to the motel in Mulberry while he was dating Blair.
And the police report regarding the accident is shaping up exactly how we want it. "
"And Thornton?"
"The SEC leak is prepped. The second you give the signal, James is going to be too busy fighting his own federal indictments to bankroll your son’s legal defense."
"Good."
Blair’s profile draws my gaze through the glass. The bruise on her cheek is turning a violent shade of purple. It’s a mark on her skin, but not mine. Ryder put it there.
Rage, cold and absolute, saturates my blood. This isn't the hot, blinding anger I normally feel. This is glacial. This is the kind of fury that destroys everything in its path.
"The Christmas Gala is coming up," I say.
"It is. You looking to hold a public execution, Gabe?"
"Wouldn’t you?” I ask. "If someone did to Emerald what my son just did to Blair?”
I can almost hear his teeth grinding through the phone, and I take his silence as agreement.
“Ryder thinks he’s going to walk into that ballroom and charm the board.
He thinks he’s going to use Thornton’s backing to challenge me.
But when the night ends, he won’t have a fortune or a future. He’ll have nothing."
"He’s still your son," Cohen notes.
"Not anymore," I snarl. "The baby Blair’s carrying is my future. Ryder is just a tumor I should’ve cut out years ago."
I end the call without a goodbye, too pissed off to say anything more.
Air fills my lungs, doing little to cool the fire in my blood. Adjusting the cuffs of my shirt forces the monster back into its cage. Blair doesn't need the monster right now. She needs the husband.
That soothes the beast a little more. Knowing I’ll be her husband until I take my last breath.
When I’m outwardly calm, I go back into her room.
Blair turns her head on the pillow. Her eyes are clear, the concussion fog lifting. She looks battered, fragile, and utterly magnificent.
"I heard you," she says, her voice raspy.
Asking what part would be an offense. I couldn’t bear to get any further away from her to have my conversation than to stand right outside the door.
I’m sure she heard everything. The distance between us vanishes in two strides, and my hand claims hers.
Her skin is warm, a sharp difference from the ice in my chest.
"Good. Then you know the plan."
"The gala.”
"Everything drops there. This won't happen in a boardroom behind closed doors. He won't fade away quietly." My thumb runs over her knuckles, mindful of the IV line. "He’ll be stripped bare in front of the people he cares about most. The donors. The board. The elite of Emerald Hills."
A flicker of something lethal passes through Blair’s eyes. It isn't fear. It's anger. A fury that comes close to matching my own.
"Good," she says. "I want to watch his face when he realizes he’s nothing."
Her fingers squeeze mine.
"After everything he’s done. The cheating, the humiliation at the fundraiser. And worst of all, he tried to take me from you, Gabriel. He didn't care if I died. He didn't care if..." Her voice cracks, and her hand moves to her stomach again.
"I know."
She looks up at me with big, doe eyes but they’re burning.
"You know… when I came to you that night in the club, all I wanted was to get revenge on him by sleeping with you.” The corner of her mouth lifts just a little—almost like she’s remembering—and then it falls as her eyes meet mine again.
“But it’s so much more than that now. More in every way.
The way I feel about you, how you’ve snuck your way inside of me and now I can’t tell what’s you and what’s me anymore.
But also how much worse Ryder is than I ever thought.
I know it’s complicated for you because he’s your blood—"
"He stopped being my blood the second his car hit yours," I promise her. “Before that, really. When he threw you away so carelessly. When he made you cry.” I reach up and brush the backs of my fingers along her bruised cheek. "He’s nothing but a problem now. One I’m about to fix."
The mattress dips as I sit on the edge, needing to be closer, but careful not to jostle her.
“Yeah, I just…” She leans her head on my shoulder and blows out a breath. “I don’t want you to regret doing this. What if one day you change your mind?”
I hear the question she’s not asking. “I won’t, but is that really what you want to know?”
She hesitates and then sits up again. “If you can do this to Ryder, to your son, what does that say about the way you love? Could you do this to me? To our child?”
The question hangs in the sterile air between us for only a heartbeat.
My hand tightens on hers, and I speak before the fear in her eyes can take root.
"No."
The word comes from the very bottom of my soul, a vow carved into the deepest parts of me.
"Ryder has always been incapable of love," I tell her, my voice dropping to that low, rough register that I know she can feel.
"Narcissistic and looking at every relationship from every angle to figure out how it could benefit him. Even from when he was little, he looked at me and didn’t see a father.
He saw a stepping stone. A bank account.
He was an obligation I fulfilled, a bad investment I kept pouring resources into hoping the returns would change.
They never did. But you? You aren't an investment, Blair.
You're my oxygen. Destroying him is just cutting off a dead limb. Destroying you would be suicide."
I lean in, invading her space until my forehead rests against hers.
My free hand moves to cover hers where it rests on her stomach.
"And this baby? It’s a piece of my soul I planted inside you to ensure you’d never be able to leave me behind.
It’s my darkness finally finding a home in your light.
I poured everything I am into you to make it exist.” My fingers move up to the back of her neck, tightening just enough to pull her a little closer.
“I’d tear the throat out of the devil himself if he tried to touch either of you. "
Her breath hitches. The doubt in her eyes fractures, replaced by the dark, consuming heat that’s been there since that first night at Red Rum.
"Okay," she whispers.
"Do you believe me?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because you don't get to be afraid of me. Be afraid of the rest of the world if you want, but never me. I’m the shield, not the sword. At least, not for you."
She nods, a small, shaky movement. Then she takes a breath, and I watch the steel return to her spine. She pushes the vulnerability aside, locking it away to deal with later.
"Gabriel?”
I gently rub the muscles in the back of her neck and she lets out a soft moan that makes my dick thicken. “Yeah, baby?”
“I'm tired of this room," she says with a cute wrinkle of her nose. "Can you please take me home? I want to sleep in our bed."
"Fine. But you don't lift a finger. You don't walk. You don't stress. You heal."
"Deal."
My lips press against her forehead.
"Let's go home, Mrs. Hollis."
There’s faint Christmas music playing over the speakers when we walk into the house.
I carried her over the threshold, ignoring her protests that she could walk. She weighs nothing. The stress of the last few days has taken a toll, and ensuring the chef increases her caloric intake is now a priority. She’s eating for two.
And doing this reminds me I need to slip my ring on her finger, the one in the drawer of my nightstand.
I don’t stop on the way up to our bedroom. I’m not taking any chances with Blair overexerting herself or getting dizzy and falling.
The second Christmas tree—the fifteen-foot Fraser Fir—glows in the corner, its white lights casting gentle shadows across the room.
She settles on the edge of the bed, and I go to help her take off the jacket she’s draped in.
"I can undress myself," she says, shrugging out of the jacket and reaching for the hem of the hospital-issued shirt she’s wearing. They had to cut off her clothes, and my fingers clench at my sides at the reminder.
"No."
Kneeling in front of her puts me at her level.
My hands are gentle as they push hers away. “I need to do this.” Her shoes come off, first the left, then the right. And then she lifts her hips with a wince as I slide the scrub pants down her legs.
She’s covered in bruises.
Her shins. Her hips. A dark, ugly mottling across her ribs where she slammed into the seatbelt.
Seeing the map of violence on her skin makes my vision blur with red. Finding Ryder right now feels like a necessity. Tearing him apart with my bare hands would be mercy compared to what I want to do.
But breathing through it is the only option.
This moment isn't about him. It’s about her.
Standing allows me to help her with the top. She lifts her arms with caution, wincing from the pain in her ribs.
When the fabric falls away, the worst of it is visible. The bruising on her shoulder and chest.
The growl building in my throat dies before it escapes.
"Does it hurt?" My voice is rough.
"Only when I breathe," she jokes, but I don’t laugh.
It’s not fucking funny.
She scoots back against the pillows and sighs as she sinks into the bed. My own clothes come off quickly, the need for skin-on-skin contact overwhelming, and I crawl under the covers beside her, pulling her back against my chest.
Usually, conquering her is the goal. Burying myself inside her so deep all she can do is scream and take me until she’s soft and satisfied is the standard of our nights together.
Tonight, though… feeling her alive is the only thing that matters. It’s all I want, and when my dick starts to perk up, I ignore it.
"Gabriel," she whispers, her voice thick with exhaustion.
"Shh. Don't talk."
I shift, leaning over to the nightstand. The drawer slides open with a quiet hush. My fingers find the velvet box I’ve had hidden there for weeks, waiting for the right moment. This... this is it.
I turn back to her.
"Give me your hand."
She blinks, confused, but she lifts her left hand from the duvet.
I snap the box open.
The light from the Christmas tree catches the diamond. It’s a massive emerald-cut stone, flawless of course, flanked by two smaller stones. It’s ostentatious. It’s heavy. It’s a rock that says this woman belongs to a man who can buy and sell your entire life.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Blair’s breath hitches. Her eyes widen as she stares at the ring.
"Gabriel..."
"I told you that you belong to me," I say, my voice low. "And now it’s official."
I take the ring from the box and slide it onto her finger. It fits perfectly.
"It's... it's too much," she whispers, staring at the diamond glittering in the semi-darkness.
"It's not enough.”
I keep hold of her hand, weaving my fingers through hers so the metal presses against my skin, too.
"You said I trapped you," I say, watching her face. "You were right. I did. I saw a door that was capable of closing, and I shoved my foot in it because the thought of being on the other side of it—the side without you—was unacceptable."
She looks up at me. Her blue eyes are searching, stripping me bare.
"Why?" she asks. "You could have had anyone. You could have had a woman who fits in here. A woman who doesn't come with baggage and all kinds of scandal. Who isn’t your son’s ex."
"I don't want just anyone," I growl. "I want the woman who looked me in the eye at a fight club and didn't flinch. I want the woman determined to make something of herself from nothing and doesn’t know the meaning of quit. Who understands what it means to struggle and still come out on top."
I lean in, brushing my lips against her temple.
"I’ve spent most of my life building walls.
I made myself untouchable. I made myself cold because cold is safe.
But I’ve been obsessed with you for years, watching you waste your light on my son.
When you walked into the club in that green dress, looking like you were holding yourself together by a thread, I decided I was done watching.
I wasn't going to let you fall. I was going to catch you, and I was never going to put you down. "
My throat feels tight. The words are jagged, scraping on the way out.
"I love you," I admit. It sounds like a confession of guilt. "I didn't think I was capable of it. I thought that part of me died years ago. But you... you dug your way into my chest and refused to leave. It’s heavy, and it’s terrifying, and it’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m obsessed with you, yes.
But it’s more than that. You’re the only reason the heart in my chest bothers to beat. "
A tear slips from the corner of her eye, tracking through the bruise on her cheek.
"Say it back," I demand, needing to hear it more than I’ve ever needed anything in my entire life.
She lets out a quiet, wet laugh. “But—”
“Say it.”
"I love you, Gabriel."
The tension in my chest uncoils.
It’s done.
The marriage binds her to me. The baby binds her to me. And now, this.
"Good," I murmur. "Now sleep. You need to heal."
"Will you stay?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
I pull the duvet up to her chin, wrapping my arm around her, anchoring her to me.
She falls asleep quickly, but I stay awake.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest. I watch the way the diamond sparkles every time she moves in her sleep.
Ryder tried to break her and then when that didn’t work, he tried to take her away.
But in the end, all he did was give me everything I needed to keep her forever.