Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Anthony
The cursor blinked patiently on the screen. I sat in my room at the Dallas Hilton in nothing but my underwear, one hand on the trackpad, the other resting on my knee, the promise of a hot shower lingering in the back of my mind. My eyes stayed fixed on the words Activate Card , daring me to click.
It looked simple enough—a financial tool tied to a credit line I never asked for but was assured belonged to me. Charlotte’s attorney had handled everything with his usual precision, down to the signature card I’d signed a few months ago. Still, I hadn’t touched it.
Charlotte's death had been sudden—a jet ski accident followed by a whirlwind of arrangements and cremation. A few thousand dollars covered her final expenses, and I spent the remainder on much-needed suits and some fancy wine I hadn’t dared to open. The rest of the inheritance, billions from her grandparents' garment empire, remained untouched in trusts I never knew existed. Charlotte had never mentioned this wealth during our relationship or brief marriage. We were partners, yet she concealed something so significant.
I felt a mix of anger over her deception and frustration that she died before I could confront her. Now, for the first time, I considered using the card.
All because of Gabrielle. I had to protect her.
I leaned back, still shirtless, my hand rubbing across my jaw. The tile floor chilled my bare feet, but my mind stayed fixed on her voice from that last call—steady, too composed, like she was holding it together for me. Like she was used to being alone when she shouldn't be. That hit me harder than I expected. Gabrielle wasn’t just sharp, beautiful, or damn good at her job—she was also brave. Braver than I’d been since losing Charlotte. She never asked for anything, which made me want to give her everything.
I stepped into the shower, letting the water pound against my skin while steam curled around me. As I lathered and rinsed, my thoughts kept circling the same point: we couldn’t stay here. Not at this hotel. The foundation had booked it, but it was too exposed, too easy to trace. And I didn’t know who I could trust yet—not with Gabrielle’s safety, and definitely not with mine.
I shaved at the sink, watching the fog clear from the mirror with each swipe of the towel. A clean face. A new start. Maybe.
Back in the main room, I didn’t bother unpacking. I wouldn’t be staying here—not long enough to make it worth it. I unzipped the overnight bag and pulled out what I needed for the day: slacks, a button-down, and a clean undershirt. Everything inside was folded with military precision, the way I always kept it—ready to go at a moment’s notice. Just enough to look respectable, just enough to disappear if I had to.
I was reaching for socks when I saw it—tucked beside my shaving kit.
The bottle of cologne.
Small, square, expensive. The brand Charlotte had given me for Christmas one year. It’s subtle, not too sweet. Clean. Like you. She’d kissed my cheek and told me it brought out something classic in me. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time—just another thoughtful gift from a woman who loved deeply and often expressed it with beautiful things.
But I’d worn it ever since.
It had become part of the routine. Not for her anymore—not consciously, anyway—but familiar. Habitual.
I uncapped it, and the scent hit me immediately—warm, crisp, comforting. And suddenly unwelcome. My chest tightened.
Charlotte had loved it.
But I’d never chosen it. Never once asked if it was what I wanted. It had become hers more than mine.
Without a second thought, I walked back into the bathroom and tipped the bottle over the drain. The cologne poured out in slow, amber threads before disappearing into the pipes.
The scent not forgotten. Just not mine.
I rinsed the sink and tossed the empty glass into the trash. Then I returned to the bag, zipped it shut, and stood for a moment, staring at the now-empty space where the bottle had been like a fixture and signed before refocusing.
Now, I had to find somewhere better for Gabrielle and me to stay. Somewhere, no one would think to look. A place far enough off the grid where we could breathe without wondering who was watching. Because until I knew who was really on our side, I couldn’t afford to take chances.
Especially not with her.
I opened my laptop again, this time without hesitation.
The jet was the first thing I booked. I used the new line of credit, entering the card details without flinching. It was a midnight departure from a private hangar, a round trip, and just for her.
Then, the resort—quiet, tucked away in a neighborhood near the foundation headquarters. Not flashy. Not too polished. Just safe. Private. Comfortable. A place where no one would ask questions, and no one would recognize us from the MM&W Foundation.
The car came next—a discreet luxury sedan with blacked-out windows, delivered to the Hilton within the hour. I didn’t want to be seen at the airport using the foundation’s vehicle, and I didn’t want Gabrielle anywhere near them, either—not for the time being.
Every move was intentional. Every detail was thought through.
She had no idea how many things I was trying to protect her from—some of which I couldn’t even name yet. But this wasn’t just about logistics. Not anymore.
It was about her.
Gabrielle had handled everything—Curtain’s threats, the gallery chaos, the impossible balancing act between right and wrong—with more grace than most people I knew. She hadn’t spiraled. She hadn’t panicked. And she hadn’t asked me for anything.
That’s what got me the most.
She didn’t demand answers. She didn’t press me for more than I could give. She just kept showing up, steady and solid, even when she had every reason to walk away.
I stared at the screen, watching the confirmation emails roll in one by one.
Jet confirmed. Resort confirmed.
She didn’t just see me—she saw right through me. And for once, I didn’t want to run.
I hit Send on the car delivery confirmation, then tapped her name in my phone without giving myself time to second-guess it.
The call connected on the first ring.
Her voice was soft and cautious like she was already bracing for something worse. I kept mine low and calm, trying to make it sound like I had everything under control—even if I wasn’t sure that was true anymore.
I told her about the jet. The resort. That she’d need to avoid the foundation’s usual channels. I gave her just enough to move, not enough to worry.
She didn’t ask questions.
Not at first. But there was a pause. A long one. And in that pause, I could feel the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. The hesitation. The trust. The decision.
She said, “Okay.”
Just that. One word. But it settled in my chest like an anchor.
After we hung up, I gazed at the phone for a beat before resuming my packing. Not long after, I departed to check out the cabin I had rented.
*********
The tarmac was quiet, with only the low hum of the idling plane and the occasional rush of wind across the concrete. I pulled the rental car up to the edge of the hangar and killed the headlights before the engine stopped turning.
I sat there for a moment, both hands on the steering wheel, watching the staircase lower from the jet’s open door. My pulse had been steady all evening, right up until now.
Now, it pounded.
It wasn’t fear, exactly. Just a deep, restless pressure in my chest as if something big was about to happen, and there was no undoing it once it did.
The door opened.
Gabrielle stepped out, silhouetted in the soft wash of cabin light behind her. Hair pulled back, travel bag slung over one shoulder, a long sweater falling around her in a way that made her look smaller than I remembered—but no less powerful.
When she caught sight of me, she paused on the stairs, just for a second. And then she moved.
I was out of the car before her feet touched the ground. Neither of us spoke.
She walked straight into my arms.
The hug was fierce. Familiar. Her body folded into mine like it was meant to be there. I didn’t realize how tightly I was holding her until she exhaled against my chest.
Then she tilted her face up to mine, and I didn’t think—I just kissed her.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful. It was the kind of kiss that had been simmering under my skin since the last time we touched. Her hands fisted the front of my jacket, and I pressed my mouth harder against hers before I could lose my nerve.
But I was the one who pulled back.
“Not here,” I whispered, forehead resting against hers. “Not now. We need to talk first.”
She didn’t argue. She just nodded once, eyes searching mine in the dark.
And I knew—whatever came next, we would face as a couple, not as boss and assistant.
We drove in silence for a few minutes, the soft hum of the road filling the space between us. The city had long since fallen behind us, replaced by winding streets and clusters of trees swaying gently in the early morning breeze. Out here, it was quiet—private—the kind of quiet that asked for truth.
“You should call in sick tomorrow,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “Use the call-out line. No emails. No contact with the gallery or foundation staff.”
She turned toward me slowly. “That bad?”
“I don’t know what’s going on yet. But whatever it is, I don’t want you anywhere near it until I figure it out.”
She didn’t argue. Just nodded once, thoughtful.
After a beat, she asked, “Does Judge Valencia know? About us, I mean.”
I gripped the wheel a little tighter. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything, but… it felt off. The way he sent me out here so abruptly. Wilma, at the foundation, didn’t even know I was coming today. She was expecting me tomorrow. That’s not normal. The judge did mention he wanted to buy one of the paintings in the collection if things worked out. But I’m not sure if that has anything to do with sending me here early.”
“So that was the reason for your meeting with Valencia? I mean, to tell you to fly to Dallas a day earlier?”
“Yep, weird, isn’t it?”
She was quiet for a moment. Then: “So we’re hiding?”
“For now. We’re being careful. There’s a difference.”
She gave a short breath of acknowledgment but didn’t press. And that—her ability to hold space, to not demand—was exactly why I needed to be honest with her.
“There’s something else you need to know,” I said, my voice lower now. “About Charlotte.”
Gabrielle shifted in her seat, giving me her full attention.
“We were on our honeymoon,” I began. “In the Caribbean. One of those over-the-water villas. Jet skis were part of the package, and Charlotte—she was fearless. Always chasing the next thrill.”
My throat tightened, but I didn’t stop.
“She was laughing when she took off. Waving at me, telling me to keep up. I saw her turn to look back over her shoulder, and then…” I swallowed. “She didn’t see the dock piling until it was too late. The impact… she was gone before I even reached her.”
Gabrielle’s hand found mine, resting gently over the gearshift. She didn’t speak, didn’t flinch. Just waited.
“I remember hearing something,” she said softly. “That you’d lost your wife. I never knew the details.”
I nodded, jaw clenched. “It was hard. But I survived it. Buried myself in work, in travel, in Foundation projects. I didn’t let anyone in, not really.”
Another pause.
“Then, a few months ago,” I continued, “I found out something that made it all worse.”
Gabrielle’s brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“She had a trust,” I said. “From her grandparents. Billions. Not millions— billions. Tied to a clothing empire she never mentioned. Not once. I found out through her attorney. Not her. Not a note. Not even a whispered joke. Nothing.”
I let the words sit there, let the air tighten around us.
“The woman I loved had trusted a lawyer more than she trusted her husband.”
Gabrielle’s fingers gently curled around mine. I could feel the weight of her sympathy but also her restraint. She wasn’t trying to fix it. She was just there.
“It broke something in me,” I said. “I don’t know if it was her silence or my own blindness that hurt more. Maybe both.”
We turned down the single-lane road leading to the resort with individual cottages. The headlights illuminated a small wooden sign tucked behind a hedge—the kind of place no one would find unless they looked.
“I haven’t been with anyone since her,” I said quietly. “Not until you.”
Gabrielle’s grip tightened just slightly.
“And I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”