6. Wren
Chapter 6
Wren
Sunlight filters through the blinds, too bright and cheerful for the nightmares plaguing my sleep. My chest tightens for a moment as I blink, trying to piece together my new reality that still feels like a fantasy.
I’m in Gabriel’s penthouse. How insane is that? A girl who used to curl up on broken box springs and, later, behind garbage containers for safety is now drowning in Egyptian cotton sheets.
I sit up, stretching my arms slowly above my head and wincing as I pull a tender spot on my left shoulder. But the pain is duller now, a background noise instead of a scream.
The room is silent, the kind of hush you get when everything around you is made of marble and velvet. My room. I can’t believe I get to say that.
“Okay, Wren, don’t screw this up,” I caution myself, like I have every morning for the last three weeks.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, or should I call it my personal cloud? I’ve never slept on pillows like these. They don’t hold my head so much as cradle it in a sumptuous embrace. I almost laugh. Who knew pillows could be this…pillowy?
I stand, pacing the room. It’s all creams and golds, fancy but not in-your-face. The wall art probably costs more than someone like me could imagine. But it’s not stuffy. Somehow, Gabriel has made his home warm and inviting.
And he’s spent more time with me than I expected. After all, he’s a busy man. Still, he’s taken time to monitor my recovery and ensure I have everything I could possibly need, including a brand-new iPhone that appeared on my bedside table my second morning here, preloaded with games and books while I recovered.
During the day, he works from his office down the hall or somewhere on the lower floors, but he always eats lunch and dinner with me. We’ve talked about everything from unemployment statistics, inflation, and fiscal policy—which would put most people in a coma but fascinates me as part of my business degree—to our favorite movies and foods.
Ed has been a constant presence and has joined us for dinner a few times. I enjoy his company, and he’s taken an active interest in my recovery. He often engages me with stories of his and Gabriel’s childhood and tales from their navy days.
He and Gabriel snipe at each other like an old married couple, but it’s clear to see how close they are. His loyalty to Gabriel is unquestionable. They both served their country. They protect people on a daily basis. That makes them the good guys, right?
The question swirls in my mind. I need to remember that nothing comes for free. Not even kindness. Gabriel has been a saint, but saints have their causes. What’s his cause where I’m concerned? Can I trust him? Because I have no safe place to land if one more person lets me down.
I’m not stupid. I know how these things usually go. When a guy picks up a girl from the streets, there’s always a price tag. But Gabriel hasn’t demanded any form of payment. Not yet, anyway. I mean, it’s not like he has some weird fetish and has asked me to take pictures of my feet. He hasn’t asked anything of me except to eat the delicious meals that appear in front of me and to heal.
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t an invoice coming,” I mutter as I head toward the bathroom. I may as well continue to enjoy the luxury shower before whatever debt I owe comes knocking. If life’s taught me anything, it’s that the other shoe always drops. Always.
I shower and throw on my robe—just one of many items of clothing that have miraculously appeared since my arrival, all in my size. Gabriel said the clothes are mine to keep and that he’ll buy me more soon, but can I afford whatever it will cost me later? Like everything else in this place, his kindness is almost too much.
I glance at the bedside clock—8 AM as I slide my left arm into my sling. Gabriel will already be up. He’s in the home gym by 7 AM every morning. Since I’ve been well enough to get out of bed, we’ve eaten breakfast together, prepared by a chef somewhere in this vast building. He then heads to his office while I read or watch trash TV. Sometimes, I talk with the cleaner, who comes once a day, but she doesn’t speak much English, so we’re limited to pleasantries about the weather .
All in all, in a short period, Gabriel and I have settled into a routine that’s oddly… domesticated.
“Morning, Wren.” Gabriel greets me as I step into the ultra-modern kitchen.
My stomach dips with pleasure as I take him in, reminding myself to breathe. No one should be allowed to look this good so early in the day. Damn, he’s like a walking advertisement for silver fox sophistication, the flecks of gray at his temples highlighting experience rather than age. His presence fills the room with an energy that’s reassuring yet stimulating.
“Good morning,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the tremor that his proximity causes. “Have you heard from Cassio?”
Gabriel nods. “Your mom is through the worst of the initial detox, but she’s still weak and confused. Give it another few weeks, and you should be able to talk to her on the phone.” He pauses as if weighing his words carefully. “She still has a long way to go, Wren. It’s going to take time, but she’s in good hands.”
“Thanks to you. I can never repay what you’ve done for her. And for me.”
“No repayment necessary.” He offers a smile that could spontaneously combust women’s panties within a ten-mile radius as he sets down covered plates on the table. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Always,” I murmur as I pull up a chair. “Although I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to all this.” I wave a finger as he uncovers the dishes to reveal the usual array of food—fresh fruit, granola, yogurt, scrambled eggs, bacon, and, oh man, sausage and biscuits.
Gabriel chuckles as my stomach growls like a bear waking from hibernation, and the deep, warm sound vibrates deliciously through me. “All the better to heal and regain your strength. You need to fill out a little.”
The penthouse has become more than a place of recovery; it’s become my sanctuary. Living here is surreal. Like any minute, someone will jump out and tell me it’s all a big joke. I’m technically a guest, but this is the safest, happiest place I’ve ever lived.
I moan as I take a tentative bite of the biscuit. It’s flaky, buttery perfection. “This is amazing. If you keep feeding me like this, I’ll be as big as a house in no time.”
Gabriel’s eyes are on my mouth, and when he lifts his eyes to mine, I swear I see hunger burning in their depths that has nothing to do with the food in front of us. He blinks, and it’s gone, making me think I imagined it.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, taking the chair opposite me. “Dr. Sanderson said your shoulder is healing well.”
“Still some soreness if I overdo it, but yeah, it’s feeling good. The physio said I can ditch the sling in another week or so,” I mumble around a strip of crispy bacon.
“That’s progress,” he says, helping himself to scrambled eggs and bacon. “Are you still comfortable in your room? There are other bedrooms if you’d prefer a different view.”
“Are you kidding? Everything works,” I say, gesturing in the direction of my room. “The shower, the lights. Even the toilet flushes. It's nice.”
His laugh rumbles through me again. “Nice?”
“Okay, it’s like living in a five-star hotel, only better because there’s no checkout time looming over my head.”
His deep brown eyes find mine. “I said you can stay as long as you need, Wren. I meant it.”
There it is again. That kindness without strings, or so it seems. Is it bad that I’m still waiting for the hammer to fall?
I add some granola to a bowl, sensing the weight of his gaze on me. Is he studying me? Trying to figure me out?
“Thank you, Gabriel. For, um, for everything,” I say, although it feels inadequate.
“You’re welcome.” His reply is simple but carries a depth that suggests he understands more than I give him credit for.
I know I should push away from this comfort, from this safety net he’s provided. But as I sit here with a full belly and a clear mind for the first time in forever, a part of me whispers seductively, Why not enjoy it while it lasts?
Once I finish eating, Gabriel heads to his office, and I go to my bedroom to do the exercises the physio gave me before getting dressed. It’s amazing how quickly I’ve learned to dress one-handed. I pull on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, feeling a little more human with every button I fasten. The fabric is soft, a luxurious material I’ve only ever seen in stores but never been able to afford. Gabriel has provided me with so much.
Sliding my arm back into my sling, I grab my phone and pad barefoot to the living room. I get comfortable on the couch and open the reading app on my phone, losing myself in a murder mystery…
“Must be a good book.”
My head pops up as Gabriel’s voice rolls through the doorway. He leans against the frame, casual but still filling all that space.
I blink, checking my phone to see that it’s almost lunchtime. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize the time. This book is amazing. So many plot twists and turns. I think I’ve worked out who the murderer is, and then the author throws another curve ball into the mix.”
His dark brown eyes hold mine. “Ready for some twists and turns with me?”
My mind goes off on a highly inappropriate tangent, imagining our naked bodies on twisted sheets as he turns me inside out. My nipples harden, and I subtly squeeze my thighs together.
“Dr. Sanderson prescribed a daily walk. Fresh air and exercise,” Gabriel adds.
A walk. Right.
I clear my throat, wondering if he can feel the heat from my cheeks across the room. “Um, sure. A walk would be good. ”
“Great. We’ll take it slow. Just to the park across the street.” His expression is serious, but his eyes hold a hint of… excitement? It can’t be the thought of dragging a convalescent around. Can it?
Going to my room, I grab my new sneakers and a thick cardigan. Then I take a deep, calming breath. What the hell has gotten into me? How can I be so intensely attracted to him? I’m not his equal. Gabriel is wildly out of my league. Older. Sophisticated. Accomplished. All the things I’m not. He’s a professional with a billion-dollar business, responsible for hundreds of people. Me? I’ve struggled just to stay alive and keep hunger and exhaustion at bay.
Never in a million years would a man like Gabriel Burns be interested in me.
“Any chance you could tie my laces?” I ask as I rejoin him in the hallway. “It’s the one thing I can’t do one-handed.”
Gabriel chuckles. “Sure.”
Once I’m double-knotted into my sneakers, we head for the elevator. “I still can’t believe this entire building is yours,” I say, looking up at the scrolling floor numbers as he presses the call button.
“Every floor,” he confirms. “Offices, training facilities, medical suites. Grew the company from the ground up and wanted everything under one roof.” The pride in his voice is clear, but it doesn’t come across as bragging.
“You’re good at what you do.” It’s more a statement than a question. I imagine Gabriel would be successful at anything he put his mind to.
“Let’s just say I have a knack for anticipating what people need,” he replies as the elevator doors slide open.
“Like rescuing stray women?” My attempt at humor is clunky, but I need him to know I don’t take any of this for granted.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling attractively at the corners. “Exactly like that.” There’s that warmth again, making me feel oddly precious.
The elevator hums softly as we descend, and I let out a shaky breath. If I’m going to heal, if I’m going to survive, I have to start trusting someone. May as well be the billionaire ex-Navy SEAL who seems hell-bent on saving me from myself.
The chill of the morning air hits me as we step outside, and I’m glad for the warmth of my cardigan .
“It’ll warm up,” Gabriel says as if he can command the sun to disperse its heat faster by willing it. Maybe he can.
We cross the road, his presence a comforting fortress beside me, but with each step, the nagging pain in my shoulder sharpens. I try to hide it, clenching my teeth, but when I wince, his hawk eyes catch it instantly.
“Let’s rest a bit,” he suggests, guiding me toward a park bench.
I nod, grateful, and as I sit, the ache eases, retreating to a dull throb.
The bench is cold, the iron biting through my cardigan. People move through the park, some strolling and taking their time, others striding with purpose, talking on phones as they continue their busy day.
“First time I’ve been out for weeks. Feels weird being outside again,” I murmur, shivering as I remember the fear of surviving in this city alone. The terror I experienced when that man attacked me. I thought I was going to die that night.
Gabriel clasps my right hand in his. “You’re safe, Wren. ”
How does he always know what to say? What to do to ease my fears? His touch is warm, grounding. My hand fits in his like it’s meant to be there. My breath comes out shaky, but this time, not from fear.
He points to a muscular Black man absorbed in his phone a few benches away. “See that guy over there? That’s Luther. And that guy”—he points to a smaller, dark-haired man buying coffee at the nearby drinks cart—“is Ethan. They’re both ex-SEALs, and they both work for me.”
“Like bodyguards or something?”
Gabriel nods. “Or something. They’re responsible for your safety when I’m not around.”
“Luther? Ethan? You’re kidding me, right?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Let me guess. Benji is hiding in the bushes somewhere.”
“Of course not.” He laughs and shakes his head. “He’s back at the office.”
I stare at him. “So, you’re telling me you have three men working for you with the same names as the main characters in Mission Impossible?”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. Never watched those movies. Too far-fetched. ”
“You haven’t seen them?” I gape at him in disbelief. “We need to change that, mister. I call for a Mission Impossible marathon at the weekend.” My eyes narrow as his mouth twitches suspiciously. “You’re messing with me.”
His deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, warming my insides. “About not having watched the movies, yes. But not about Ethan’s and Luther’s names.”
I shake my head. “I guess truth is stranger than fiction.”
“All you need to know is that you’re safe.”
“I am now.”
He squeezes my hand gently, and something shifts inside me. It’s more than gratitude; it’s the tender blossoming of trust budding tentatively in my chest. He has this aura of strength, of unwavering competence. I’ve seen him scan a room, eyes flicking from one corner to the next, constantly aware. Maybe that’s why people lean on him—they sense he can carry their weight without faltering.
“Thank you,” I whisper for what I’m sure is the millionth time, unsure what I’m thanking him for this time. For the strength of his warm hand, for the rescue, for the morning air that suddenly doesn’t feel so cold when he’s close?
“Anytime, little bird.”
I lean my head against his shoulder, his warmth a solid reassurance. We’re two people on a bench, yet I can’t ignore the fierce protectiveness radiating from him. The bustling city around us seems distant, like background noise to a scene that belongs only to us.
“Maybe we could walk a bit more?” I suggest. The idea of moving again is daunting, but I’m weaker than expected and need to rebuild my stamina.
“Only if you’re sure,” he replies, concern etched in the lines on his forehead. “Remember, you need to make it back.”
I smirk. “Maybe one of the MI guys can carry me back.”
He rises beside me, towering like a skyscraper, guarding me from the elements. “The only person carrying you will be me.”
Did I imagine the undertone of possessiveness in his voice? I guess I’m a little possessive of him too.
My legs are shaky, like a newborn foal, but I keep going, each step a silent victory. I’m vaguely aware of Luther and Ethan following us at a discreet distance. Gabriel sure does take my safety seriously.
My nose twitches as a delicious aroma hits me—rich, earthy coffee blended with the sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon.
“Can’t beat the smell of cinnamon buns, huh?” Gabriel chuckles, catching my longing glance toward the café up ahead. “Let’s stop for coffee and a bun. Unless you’re still full after that monstrous breakfast you put away this morning?”
I grin. “Wanna share?”
He smiles. “Sound good.”
Sharing a cinnamon bun with Gabriel adds another layer of joy to the dream I’m not ready to wake up from.
“Come on.” He gestures toward the café with a smile that tells me he knows exactly what kind of effect this small kindness has on me.
“Lead the way,” I reply, trying to match his ease. It’s just a man offering a girl coffee and a bun, I tell myself. But as we step into the café, it feels like so much more.
We find a small table near the window, the hum of morning chatter inside the café strangely soothing. Luther and Ethan are nowhere to be seen, but something tells me they’re not far away. I can’t help but wonder how I ended up here. A girl with nothing to her name enjoying coffee with a man who could buy the entire block if he wanted to, while two security guards keep watch outside.
“Would you like cream or sugar?” Gabriel asks, holding out the little containers like peace offerings.
“Both, please.”
I watch him prepare the coffee, studying his strong, capable hands as he stirs in the condiments with precision. It’s a simple act, but even this he does with a confident grace that’s mesmerizing. What would those hands feel like sliding over my skin, touching me in places no man has ever touched me?
“Here you go,” he says, cutting off my dreamy thoughts as he slides the cup toward me.
I wrap my hand around its warmth, letting it seep into my chilled fingers. He casts his eyes around the room for the third time since we entered before breaking off a piece of the oversized bun and placing it on my saucer.
“Gabriel,” I begin, my anxiety rearing its head. “You’re always on alert. Do you think we’re safe here?”
The question hangs between us. I guess I’m more traumatized than I thought, laden with the weight of my unspoken fears about Gregory and Jerry. But the city is vast. Finding me would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, right?
Gabriel doesn’t miss a beat.“I make it my business to be aware of our surroundings. And yes, Wren, we’re safe.” He reaches across the table, swiping a blob of icing from the corner of my mouth. I catch my breath at the intimate gesture. I’m becoming addicted to his touch.
I relax against the chair, focusing on the sweet, doughy perfection of the cinnamon bun that makes my stomach do happy flips.
“See that couple over there?”
Gabriel’s question pulls me from my impending sugar coma. I follow his gaze to the window as a pair of joggers pass outside.
“They run this path every morning. Rain or shine.”
I crack a smile, impressed. “You spend a lot of time watching strangers?”
“Observation is key in my line of work. You pick up on patterns. Routines.”
“Sounds like a superpower,” I joke .
“Maybe it is.” He winks, and for a moment, I forget about the darkness that brought me to him.
Our conversation is light as we drink our coffee and finish the bun. I notice Luther and Ethan mingling with the crowds behind us as we leave the cozy café and head back to Gabriel’s building.
“Fancy a tour?” he asks as we reach the modern high-rise. “Unless you’re too tired?”
“No, I’m good. I’d love that.”
Gabriel signals for Luther and Ethan to leave us and gestures for me to follow him. I’m struck again by the sleek, modern design as we enter the lobby. Everything gleams, from the polished marble floors to the tinted glass walls that reveal a glimpse of the city outside. It's a place that exudes power and efficiency, much like the man walking beside me.
“This way,” he says, leading me toward a set of double doors at the back of the lobby. “I figured you should get to know the place since you’ve been here almost a month.”
We pass through the doors into a wide hallway, the soft hum of air conditioning filling the silence. The first stop is an office area, where employees work diligently at their desks, the atmosphere focused but not tense. Gabriel nods at a few people as we walk by, and they greet him with the kind of respect that suggests they hold him in high regard but aren't afraid of him.
“This is where most of the day-to-day operations happen,” he explains. “Marketing, finance, human resources. The backbone of the company.”
I nod, taking in the spacious layout and the state-of-the-art equipment. “It’s impressive,” I admit. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Wait until you see the rest,” he replies with a knowing smile.
We continue down the hallway, passing a series of glass-walled conference rooms, each equipped with large screens and sleek furniture. Gabriel briefly explains their purpose—team meetings, client presentations, brainstorming sessions. He doesn’t linger on the business aspects, perhaps sensing that it might overwhelm me.
Next, he leads me to a set of stairs, taking them down to a lower level. The air here is cooler, with a faint aroma of antiseptic that tickles my nose. The smell stirs my senses with fractured memories of being brought here the night I was stabbed.
“You okay?” Gabriel asks, noticing my shiver.
“Yeah, just remembering that night in the alley. ”
Gabriel’s large hand swallows mine. “I’ve got you,” he says, his tone steady and reassuring.
Still holding my hand, he pushes open another door, revealing a pristine medical facility. “This is where Dr. Sanderson and his medical teamwork. We have a fully equipped medical suite—everything from routine checkups to emergency care.”
I glance around, my eyes widening at the sight of the modern medical equipment. “Jeez, this is incredible. You really do have everything here, don’t you?”
“Almost,” he admits, a hint of pride in his voice. “I like to be prepared.”
It’s more than being prepared. Gabriel has created a world within these walls, a place where he can control every variable, ensuring that nothing is left to chance.
We move on, returning to the main level and taking another elevator up. This time, we stop on a floor that smells faintly of delicious food. My stomach growls despite the huge amount I’ve already consumed this morning.
Gabriel chuckles, obviously hearing it. “I’m guessing the smell gave this one away,” he says as we step into a large kitchen area .
It’s more like a high-end restaurant than anything else, with stainless steel counters, professional-grade ovens, and an array of cooking tools I couldn’t even name. Staff bustle around, and a tall man in a crisp white chef’s coat is busy at one of the stations, his back to us.
“Wren, meet Chef étienne,” Gabriel says, raising his voice slightly. “He’s the genius who prepares all our meals.
The chef turns, and I’m greeted by a warm smile and a friendly nod. “Ah, Miss Wren, good to finally meet you,” he says in a thick French accent.
I laugh, a bit shy under his keen gaze. “Likewise.”
“étienne keeps us well-fed. Breakfast, lunch, dinner—whatever you want, he can make it,” Gabriel explains.
“Thank you for all the wonderful meals you’ve prepared for me,” I say warmly, smiling at the French man. “I’ve never eaten such delicious food.”
“Ah, this is music to my ears, ma chérie,” he says with a wink. “It is a pleasure to cook for such a beautiful woman.”
I blush, and Gabriel’s hand tightens on mine. I look up, catching a flash of warning in his eyes as he looks at the chef.
“We’ll leave you to get on with your work,” he says coolly, practically dragging me from the kitchens.
We take the elevator again, this time to the very top floor. The doors slide open to reveal the penthouse with its panoramic city views, modern décor, plush furniture, and warm lighting that makes the expansive space feel cozy. Gabriel is right. This space has become my home in recent weeks.
“I realize I haven’t shown you the best view yet,” he says, leading me toward a large door off the living room that I somehow haven’t noticed before. He opens it to reveal a rooftop terrace.
“Wow,” I breathe, stepping out into the fresh air. “This is… incredible.”
The view is stunning, with the city sprawling beneath us and the sky stretching above. There’s a small garden, with comfortable seating and even a fire pit.
“It’s peaceful,” Gabriel agrees, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. “I come out here when I need to think.”
I glance at him, wondering what a man like Gabriel needs to think about. But instead of asking, I let the silence between us settle, comfortable and unhurried. My tension eases, the weight of my worries lifting a little in this sanctuary he’s created.
“Thank you for showing me all this,” I say, turning to face him. “I know I don’t belong here, but… it’s nice to pretend, even if only for a little while.”
Gabriel’s expression softens, and he takes a step closer, his presence warm and reassuring. “You belong here as much as anyone, Wren. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
“I’ll try not to be any trouble,” I reply, my voice tight with fear of the unknown. What if I mess this up? What if I disappoint him?
His mouth tightens. “You could never be any trouble, Wren. You’re a fighter. Never forget that. No more of this self-doubting shit, got it?”
I give him a small salute. “Got it, Daddy.”
Gabriel’s expression instantly changes. His features become tense as his eyes bore into mine. “What did you call me?”
I laugh shakily. “It was a joke. I-I didn’t mean to offend you. I?—”
He shakes his head as he prowls toward me. “You didn’t offend me. Far from it. I liked it.”
I swallow hard. “You liked me calling you… Daddy?”
He nods as he brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Yes, I liked it, little bird.”
Little bird.
This time, the endearment shakes loose a memory.
There’s only one thing I want, little bird. You.
Did I imagine Gabriel saying those words that first night as I drifted off to sleep? I had a ton of pain meds in my system, so maybe it wasn’t real. The pertinent question is, do I want it to be real?
Part of me does. So desperately. But I’ve always kept a reinforced wall between myself and any romantic relationship. I’m not stupid. I’m the abandoned girl clinging to a kind word and yearning for stability. I know that my deep desire to be loved could be my downfall. It would be so easy to mistake the safety Gabriel offers for something… more.
Gabriel rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, pulling it away from my teeth. Without thinking, my tongue darts out to lick the rough pad.
“Fuck,” he growls, a muscle flickering in his jaw, a flush staining his high cheekbones.
My heart gallops at the molten heat in his brown eyes. Goosebumps spread across my flesh, tightening my nipples into hard points. Warmth pools in my lower belly and spills into my core, sending the blood rushing to my throbbing clit. My body sparks to life, and the need to touch him is overwhelming.
Holy crap, what’s happening to me?
The buzz of Gabriel’s cell phone startles us both, breaking the tension. Dropping his hand, he plucks the phone from his pocket.
“I need to take this,” he says tersely, turning to head back inside.
I nod, cheeks burning as I follow him.
What the hell just happened?
There was no mistaking the blatant hunger in Gabriel’s eyes. I may be a virgin, but I’m not na?ve. I know desire when I see it. It should terrify me after what happened with Gregory and Jerry, but it’s different with Gabriel. He doesn’t make me feel dirty. He makes me feel precious, cared for. I’ve never felt as safe and protected as I do with Gabriel. He’s opened his home to me, fed me, provided medical care, and a secure place for me to heal. As the days have passed, we’ve slipped into an easy companionship .
But with one word, everything has changed.
Daddy.
I know some men like the whole Daddy Dom thing. Is that what Gabriel likes? Is that what he expects from me in return for his help? And why doesn’t that thought have me running for the hills?