Chapter 17 — It Wasnt Supposed to Hurt Like This
POV: Elena
I woke to the smell of cold ashes.
It was a subtle, acrid odor that mingled with the expensive scent of Egyptian cotton sheets and the lingering smell of sex that filled the room. It wasn't unpleasant. It was the smell of my freedom.
I opened my eyes to the penthouse's dim light. The storm had passed, leaving behind an oppressive white sky that pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The bed beside me was empty. Gabriel's pillow still held the impression of his head, a soft indentation in the gray fabric, but the warmth had already faded.
I sat up, pulling the sheet to cover my bare breasts.
My body ached. Not a sharp pain from injury, but a deep, muscular throb—a physical reminder of how violently we'd collided the night before.
My wrists were sore where he'd held them.
My lips burned. The mark on my neck felt hotter than the rest of my skin.
I looked at the gas fireplace in the corner of the open living area.
There was a small pile of gray and black residue where, hours before, my mother's file had been.
Burned.
The proof that I was the daughter of a murderer. The leverage Gabriel had used to ensure my loyalty. The secret that had defined my adult life.
It had all turned to dust.
I should have felt light. I should have felt that dizzying euphoria of someone who'd escaped the guillotine at the last second. The FBI had backed down. Richard Hale had fled. The file no longer existed.
I was free.
But as I stared at those ashes, the only thing I felt was a crushing weight in the center of my chest. A gravitational black hole sucking all the air from the room.
Because without the file... without the blackmail... without the threat... what was left?
What kept us together now, on this cold Wednesday morning, if not choice?
And the idea that I was choosing to stay here, in the bed of the man who'd manipulated me for six months, was more terrifying than any threat of prison.
I got up, wrapping the sheet around my body like an improvised toga, and walked to the living room.
The apartment was silent. The kitchen, immaculate. No sign of Gabriel.
I saw a note on the black marble counter, next to a cup of coffee still trailing a thin wisp of steam.
Had to go to the office. Richard's share transfer requires physical signatures. Back for lunch. Don't leave.
Don't leave.
The order was there, scrawled in that angular, domineering handwriting. But there was no threat behind it. No “or I'll turn you over to the police.” Just a request disguised as a command.
I picked up the cup. The coffee was strong, bitter—exactly how he knew I liked it.
My new phone—the secure device he'd given me—vibrated in the pocket of the pants I'd tossed on the couch the night before.
I walked over and grabbed it.
Unknown number.
I answered, cautious.
“Hello?”
“They gave me a new name, Elena. Can you believe that? They want me to call myself 'Paul Miller.' Like I look like a Paul.”
Thomas's voice came through whispered and rushed.
I exhaled, leaning my hip against the back of the couch.
“Thomas. Are you okay?”
“If being locked in a stinking motel room with two federal agents at the door waiting for the paperwork to come through is okay, then yeah, I'm great.”
He snorted.
“Your lawyer... Moretti. He's the devil, Elena. The feds are scared of him. I saw the way Agent Miller talked to him on the phone. Respect. Fear.”
“He did his job,” I replied coldly.
“He did more than that. He destroyed Richard Hale. They say the guy fled to Chile.”
Thomas let out a nervous laugh.
“We won, El. I mean... I lost my job and my identity, but I'm not going to jail. And Mom... well, her secret stays buried in Switzerland.”
The mention of Mom made my stomach turn.
“Did you know?” I asked, my voice low. “Did you know Richard was paying for the clinic before you started the scheme?”
Silence on the line.
“He... he told me he'd help. At the beginning. Said it was an advance on my bonus. Then it turned into blackmail.”
Thomas's voice faltered.
“I didn't have a choice, Elena.”
“You always had a choice, Thomas. You just chose the easier path. The one that involved lying to me.”
“I was protecting you! If you'd known...”
“If I'd known, I wouldn't have spent the last five years killing myself to pay off debts you racked up playing the hero.”
“Look, I'm sorry, okay?”
The impatience in his voice was typical. Thomas could never handle guilt for more than two minutes.
“The important thing is it's over. I'm signing the agreement this afternoon and then... poof. New life. Arizona, maybe.”
He paused.
“And you? You’re going to stay there? With him?”
I looked at the panoramic view of Ashford. The city looked like a gray, rain-soaked circuit board.
“I don’t know.”
“El... that guy is dangerous. What he did to your apartment door... the way he looked at me... he’s not normal. Take your money, take your immunity, and get out. You don’t owe him anything.”
“No,” I agreed, looking at the ashes in the fireplace. “I don’t owe him anything.”
“Then leave! Come to the motel. The feds can protect you until...”
“Bye, Thomas.”
“Elena, wait!”
I hung up.
I tossed the phone onto the couch.
Thomas was right. Gabriel was dangerous. Gabriel wasn’t normal. Gabriel had manipulated me.
But Thomas was wrong about one fundamental thing. He thought I was staying out of obligation. He thought I was a victim.
He didn’t understand that the victim had died the moment I handed that listening device to Gabriel. What was left in her place was something far more complicated.
I went to the bedroom.
I took a long shower, scrubbing my skin until it turned red, but this time, I wasn’t trying to wash off his scent. I was trying to feel clean enough to wear his clothes again.
I had no clothes here, except yesterday’s gray suit and the dirty outfit from the day before.
I opened Gabriel’s closet.
Rows of dark suits. White, blue, and black shirts, organized by color. The smell of sandalwood and cedar was overwhelming in there, like stepping into his mind.
I grabbed a clean white shirt and put it on. The sleeves fell past my hands. The hem hit mid-thigh.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror.
I looked small. Vulnerable. The “doll” he dressed and undressed as needed.
I hated the image.
I went back to the closet and looked for something else. I found gray sweatpants in the drawer of “casual” clothes—the drawer he rarely used. I rolled the waistband twice so they wouldn’t fall down.
I returned to the living room.
It was eleven in the morning.
I had immunity. I had no job. I had no habitable apartment.
I started walking around the penthouse. I touched the furniture. The cold metal sculptures. The law books on the shelf that looked like they’d never been opened.
Everything here was sterile. Perfect. Controlled.
It was the home of a man who didn’t allow himself to have anything that could be used against him. Until now.
Now, he had me.
And I had the ashes in the fireplace.
The elevator door opened with a soft ding.
I spun on my heels, heart racing.
Gabriel walked in.
He carried the smell of rain and the office with him. Impeccable suit, hair slicked back, leather briefcase in his left hand. His right hand was still bandaged, the white dressing bright against the dark fabric of his jacket.
He stopped when he saw me.
His eyes swept over my body, from the rolled-up sweatpants to his white shirt, rising to my bare face and my loose hair still damp from the shower.
He didn’t smile. His expression was tense, hungry, cautious.
“You stayed,” he said. His voice was hoarse.
“You told me not to leave.”
“I asked.” He set the briefcase on the entry table and walked toward me. “You could have gone. The door wasn’t locked.”
“The door is never locked, Gabriel. That’s your favorite metaphor, isn’t it?”
He stopped one step away from me. The energy radiating from him was palpable. He seemed to vibrate.
“Thomas signed the pre-agreement,” he said, ignoring my jab. “He’s going to Phoenix tomorrow. New identity. Administrative job at a low-level logistics company that owes my firm favors. He’s safe.”
“I know. He called me.”
Gabriel frowned.
“What did he say?”
“He said you’re the devil. And that I should run from you.”
Gabriel let out a short, humorless laugh.
“He’s not wrong.”
“No. He’s not.”
We stared at each other. The silence stretched, charged with everything we’d said and done in the last twenty-four hours. The manipulation. The sex. The burning of the dossier.
Gabriel raised his left hand and touched my face. His fingers were cold from the street.
“Why didn’t you leave?” he asked quietly.
“Because I have nowhere to go.”
“Lie.” His thumb brushed my lower lip. “You speak four languages. You’re brilliant. You could get on a plane to anywhere in the world. I’d give you the money.”
“Do you want me to go?”
The question hung in the air.
Gabriel closed his eyes for a second, as if in physical pain.
“No,” he whispered. “God, no. The idea of you away from me… it’s unbearable.”
“Then stop giving me escape routes.” I covered his hand with mine, pressing it against my face. “Because one day I might believe you and use them.”
He opened his eyes. The darkness in them swallowed me.
“This isn’t healthy, Elena. We’re not healthy.”
“I know.”
“I manipulated you.”
“I know.”
“And I’d do it again.” The confession came out hard, brutal. “If it meant keeping you safe… if it meant keeping you mine… I’d lie again. I’d burn the world again.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine. Not from fear. From recognition.
“I know,” I repeated. “And that’s why I stayed.”
Gabriel pulled me to him violently, crushing his mouth against mine.
The kiss tasted of desperation and possession. He kissed me as if he wanted to erase any thought of escape from my mind, as if he wanted to imprint his will into my very cells.
I kissed him back. I grabbed his jacket, pulling him closer, opening my mouth to him, letting him in.