Chapter 22 - Gabriel #2
"There's room for more," I say, my voice low against her ear. "Next year, there’ll be another one right there." I point to the empty space next to hers. "And maybe another one after that."
She turns in my arms, burying her face in my chest. She’s crying.
"I love you," she sobs. "I love you so much it scares me."
"Good," I say, holding her tight. "Be scared. Just don't let go."
We move to the couch, and Blair curls up into the corner, pulling the throw over her legs. I sit next to her, my arm draped along the back of the sofa, my fingers playing with the hair at the back of her neck.
For the first time in my life, I’m completely content.
Snow falls harder outside, sealing us in, isolating us from the rest of the world. It’s nice, sitting here, curled up together listening to quiet Christmas music and just being.
But then a phone buzzes. It’s on the kitchen counter where Blair plugs her phone in at night. We both pretend we don’t hear it, but then it happens again. And again.
She frowns and kicks the blanket off, walking over to grab her phone off the charger. "It’s Harper," Blair says, unlocking her phone. "She's probably freaking out about the gala."
She unlocks the screen and the smile drops off her face.
"Holy shit," she breathes.
She sits down and curls into my body and I watch her tap into the link in the message. Her eyes scan the screen and get wider the more she reads.
“What is it?” I ask even though I know. There’s only one thing it could be.
"It's Vivienne," she says, looking up at me. "She's dead."
I keep my face perfectly still. "Is she?"
"She... she overdosed." Blair turns the phone so I can see the screenshot and the million emojis Harper sent. "At The E hotel. They found her this morning."
She clicks back into the article, scrolls down, reading more.
"She wasn't alone," Blair says, and I can’t get a read on her voice. It’s like she’s happy or disturbed or indifferent.
Maybe a mix of all three. "She was with Richard Sterling. That judge? His wife already released a statement... Jesus, Gabriel. It says they were having an affair. He’s been arrested for possession and negligence. "
She stares at the phone, then slowly lifts her eyes to mine.
Richard Sterling.
I hide a smirk behind the rim of my coffee cup.
Sterling has been a liability for the Savage Society for months.
Fucking them over in court more than once.
Cole decided to kill two birds with one stone.
Ruining Vivienne’s reputation by having her overdose in the bed of a married man is ruthless.
It destroys her legacy and incinerates Sterling’s life in a single move.
Blair searches my face. She’s looking for guilt. She’s looking for surprise.
She won’t find either.
"Tragic," I say.
Blair’s gaze sharpens. She’s smart. She knows how the world works now. She knows that Vivienne Ashford humiliated her publicly. She knows Vivienne gave Ryder the keys to the car that ran her off the road.
And she knows I protect what’s mine.
She looks at the phone again, typing a quick reply to Harper before setting it face down on the coffee table.
"You know, I’ve always loved karma," she says softly.
"Me, too.”
She slides closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder.
"I'm glad she can't hurt us anymore," she whispers.
"No one can hurt us anymore."
My hand slides under the hem of the shirt, finding the warm, bare skin of her thigh. I squeeze, feeling the soft give of her flesh.
"I promised to take you back to bed," I murmur, dipping my head to brush my lips against the sensitive spot behind her ear. "And I don't break promises."
"Wait," she says, though her breath hitches and her legs instinctively part to let me closer. She places a hand on my chest, stopping my descent. "We haven't done gifts yet."
She picks her phone back up. "I have something for you. It’s... not much. I can’t exactly buy you a Patek Philippe, and even if I could, you have, like, a dozen of them."
I don’t correct her that, yes, actually, she could buy the entire Patek Philippe store if she wanted. She’ll get used to it.
She taps the screen before handing it to me. I look down and there’s a Spotify playlist open. It’s titled Sunday Dinner, and I laugh at the reminder of her confession. The way we used to be starving for each other during those meals with Ryder between us.
"I made this for you," she says, her cheeks flushing a faint pink. "It’s... well, it’s songs that remind me of us. Of how you make me feel."
I scroll through the list before tapping the play button.
The opening notes of "I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys fill the room. The heavy, slow rhythm vibrates in the quiet space. It’s devotional. Obsessive.
I look at her.
She’s biting her lip, looking nervous for the first time today.
"I listened to it a lot," she admits, her voice quiet. "When I was trying to hate you but couldn't. When I was closing my eyes with Ryder and imagining your hands on me. The Banks song... it's exactly how I felt sitting across from you at that table."
A dark, possessive thrill curls through my blood.
She spent hours curating a soundtrack to our obsession. She sat in the dark and thought about me. She let me live in her head rent-free.
"Play track four," she whispers. "That’s the one I listen to when I touch myself."
Fuck.
I skip to the fourth track.
The filthy, distorted bassline of "Love Is a Bitch" by Two Feet kicks in. It’s slow, gritty, and sounds exactly like sex.
My dick goes rock hard, straining against my joggers.
"You like it?" she asks.
"I’m never listening to anything else," I promise. I toss the phone onto the cushion beside us, letting the music thump through the speakers. I don't care about the phone. I care about the woman who understands the darkness inside me and decided to dance with it.
"I have something for you, too," I say.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out a small, flat box.
Blair takes it. Her hands shake slightly as she lifts the lid.
Inside sits a gold bangle. It’s simple, a solid band of gold.
"It's beautiful," she says, lifting it out. "But... there's no clasp."
"No," I say. "There isn't."
I take the bracelet from her, along with a small gold screwdriver that was tucked beneath the velvet lining.
Her wedding ring is a symbol of devotion. It’s something she wears because she loves me, but it’s something she could technically take off. She could slide it from her finger in a fit of rage or leave it on the nightstand if she ever decided to walk away.
This is different.
This gold band requires a tool to remove, and I’m the only one who holds it. It’s not about marriage. It’s about the fact that she doesn't get to leave.
Blair looks at the gold band, then up at me.
She doesn't pull away. She doesn't look scared.
Her pupils dilate.
"Put it on," she whispers.
I tighten the small screws, locking the gold around her wrist.
"You can't take it off," I tell her, my voice dropping to a rough growl. "You shower in it. You sleep in it. When you look at your wrist, you remember who owns your soul."
"You do," she breathes.
"I do. And you own mine."
I pocket the screwdriver.
"Thank you," she says, lifting her wrist to admire the gold glinting in the lights from the Christmas tree. "It’s perfect."
"Like you."
I stand up, lifting her effortlessly into my arms. Her legs wrap around my waist, the shirt riding up to expose everything I’ve been craving since before breakfast.
"Time to make good on my promise," I announce.
She laughs, a breathless, happy sound that chases away the last of the shadows in the house.
"Merry Christmas, Gabriel."
"Merry Christmas, little bird."
We leave the fire burning downstairs. We leave the news of dead rivals and ruined reputations on the coffee table.
Upstairs, the snow falls harder, burying the world in white.
I lay her on the bed, crawling over her, settling between her thighs where I belong. She reaches for me, the gold bracelet flashing against my skin as her arms wrap around my neck.
I spent my life fighting. I fought poverty. I fought for respect. I fought for control. I fought to make something of myself.
I thought success was the money. I thought it was the fear in other men’s eyes when they look at me.
I was wrong.
This is success.
The feel of her under me. The heat of her skin radiating into mine. The reality of a house that is finally, truly a home.
I sink into her, listening to the wind howl outside the walls of my stronghold.
Let it snow. Let them talk. Let the world collapse around us.
I have everything I need right here.