Evangeline

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Gabe picks up on the signal immediately, just as I knew he would.

"Let's go, Piccola," he whispers, taking my hand. A sudden warmth floods through me, not just in my toes, but in my chest and fingers and everywhere else. The sensation spreads, filling me up, almost overwhelming, demanding to be acknowledged.

He knew. He knew from one look, one signal, that I needed him, and he didn't hesitate. He never hesitates.

I barely have time to react before he swiftly guides me out of our row. The theater seems to close in around us as faces turn to watch me leave, but Gabe doesn't slow down. He keeps me close, leading me through a set of double doors and out into safety.

As soon as we step outside, I inhale deeply, the warm air filling my lungs, making me feel like I can finally breathe again. Gabe's strong fingers stay wrapped around mine, guiding me through what looks like a quiet backlot and toward a nearby attendant.

I don't know what came over me. One minute I was sitting there, convincing myself I could endure two hours of watching my ex play a billionaire seducing his secretary, and the next, I was spiraling—my vision blurred, my thoughts scattered, my chest tight. I couldn't see. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.

Oh god. Lilith and my mother are going to kill me. I'd practically admitted that Kael only landed the role because of my father. But for a moment, I just couldn't let him get away with everything he's done. I couldn't keep being the bigger person. For once, I had to speak my mind, no matter the consequences.

"I've got you," Gabe says as I start to slow down, and it's true. Somehow, he's always there when I need him the most, ready to whisk me away at a moment's notice, and all I've done is punish him for it.

Gabe's hand tightens around mine as we reach the attendant. "Where's the quickest way out?"

The attendant startles, then quickly points around the back of the theater. Gabe doesn't waste a second, pulling me along as he updates the others through his earpiece, tucking me securely under his arm. We move swiftly, and within minutes, we're standing on the edge of a busy road lined with parked cars, the premiere already forgotten as Stu, Bailey, and Jack come rounding the corner.

The first thing I notice is the icy expression on Stu's face—his jaw is clenched tight, eyes narrowed with a fury that makes my stomach drop.

If Gabe notices, he doesn't show it; he's already focused on Jack. "You get anything?" he asks.

"He didn't tell us much," Jack admits, "so, Mr. I-don't-follow-rules over here"—he nods pointedly at Stu—"grabbed the guy's wallet and found his ID. His name is Mason Fowler. Twenty-three-years-old. I've sent the details to GSS to see what they can dig up."

My fingers tighten around Gabe's hand as it suddenly dawns on me why Stu is so furious. He knows about the stalker. I try to catch his attention, hoping to soften his anger with my usual Stu-disarming techniques, but his eyes are on Gabe.

"Look, Stu," I start, but Gabe is already stepping in.

"It's not her fault," he says calmly, looking down the road to see if the car is coming. "I told her not to say anything. I was handling it."

I watch in horror as the vein in Stu's neck pulses, tripling in size. Even though I appreciate Gabe trying to protect me, I want to shake him and tell him to stop talking. Stu might be disappointed, maybe even furious, but he can never stay mad at me for long. Gabe, on the other hand, he will happily murder.

"You told her to keep this from me?" Stu asks, his voice dangerously low as he grabs Gabe by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. "Do you have any idea how much fucking danger you could have put her in? If I'd known there was a stalker, I'd have—"

Gabe shrugs Stu off him, surprisingly calm. "You'd have done what?" he asks. "Protected her harder? Unless you think you're doing a half-ass job already, there's nothing more you could've done to keep her safe."

My stomach churns, a wave of nausea washing over me as I look between them. The muscles in Stu's jaw tighten further, his fists clenching at his sides. This is not going to end well.

"You crossed a line, and you know it," Stu says, his voice seething with a level of anger I've never heard from him before. "You risked her life just so you could play the hero."

For the first time all evening, Gabe's controlled composure cracks. "You think you're the only one who cares about her?" he growls. "Whether you believe it or not, her safety is the only thing I care about."

I have to blink a few times to make sure I've heard him right. Gabe just admitted to caring about me—not in the "it's my job to care" kind of way, but in a real, genuine way.

The way I think I care about him.

"I'm putting a report in the second we get back," Stu says calmly. "You will never work for the Ryders again, or anyone else for that matter." 

My throat tightens as I frantically look between the pair. "Gabe wanted to tell you," I tell Stu, my voice shaky as I desperately try to fix this. I have to. I'm the one who told Gabe to keep it a secret. I'm the reason Gabe is about to get fired. "I told him to keep it quiet, or I'd fire him. This isn't his fault."

Hesitation crosses Stu's face, but then Gabe ruins everything.

"It's fine, Piccola," he says quietly, refusing to look at me. "He's right. When we get back to LA, I'll go."

"No," I say, panic rising in my chest. "My father's trial hasn't ended, and the gala is in a few weeks." I'm clutching at straws here, trying to think of any reason to get him to stay, but nobody seems to be listening. The car pulls up, and everyone shifts their focus, ushering me inside.

I slide into the back seat, frustration boiling inside me. I want to scream, to fight like the spoiled princess everyone thinks I am, because somehow, in the span of a minute, Gabe has resigned himself to quitting, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

As the car pulls away from the curb, I close my eyes, trying to steady my racing thoughts. You think you're the only one who cares about her? I'm already trying to convince myself that it meant nothing, that everything Gabe does is just because it's his job—but deep down, I can't shake the feeling that it's more than that.

The city lights blur past the window, their glow casting fleeting patterns across Gabe's face as he stares straight ahead, his expression unreadable. I've had countless bodyguards over the years, some who grew to care about me in their own way, but none of them have ever looked at me the way he does or made me feel the way he does.

It's terrifying.

Not as terrifying as the thought of him leaving for good.

My phone pings before I can unravel. Gabe's eyes flicker toward me as I pull out my phone. For once, it's not a message from my stalker but a text from Kat asking how things are going. I type out a reply, letting her know we're on our way home. Almost instantly, she responds with a taco emoji.

Sighing, I glance over at Gabe. "Can we stop at Taco Bell?"

He raises an eyebrow like I've officially lost my mind. "Taco Bell?"

"Yes." It's practically a ritual now. After every premiere or event, especially when Kat can't come along, I make sure to bring back some fast food, and we hole up in my bedroom watching old movies. "Kat needs tacos."

I watch as the gears turn in his mind, his dark eyes calculating the logistics, weighing the risks of us being spotted at a fast-food place in the middle of the night. I brace myself for the usual "no," his go-to response.

But instead, he surprises me. "Taco Bell it is," he says, relaying the request to the driver.

The car falls silent again as we take a quick detour to the nearest drive-through. I keep my eyes on the view outside, the familiar skyline passing by in a mix of neon and shadow. I know tomorrow's headlines will be brutal—I practically admitted Kael only got the role because of my father, and there will definitely be photos of me sneaking out of the premiere. But I don't care right now. All I can think about is the reality that once we get back to LA, Gabe will be leaving.

My fingers curl into my lap as I try to push down the rising anxiety. We pull up to the drive-through, and for a second, the pit in my stomach is replaced by this giddy feeling that we're doing something so ordinary for a change—it's ridiculous, really, since we're just getting tacos, but it feels like a small escape. There was a time when nothing excited me more than a premiere or a party, but now? All I look forward to is when they're finally over.

Then leave, a small voice whispers. You're an adult, not a prisoner. But I push the thought down, knowing it's not helpful, even if it's what I want more than anything. Now is not the time to be rocking the boat, but maybe once the gala is over. The trial. Maybe then, I'll live how I want to live instead of how Lilith and my mother keep telling me.

There's no time more time to think about it as we pull up to Taco Bell. I end up ordering enough tacos to feed a small army, despite Gabe insisting I don't need to get them anything. But I want to. It's easy to forget how much work goes into all the planning and preparation they do to get me through an event like this, and I want them to know I don't take it—or them—for granted.

By the time we reach the hotel, it's late. Jack and Bailey pull up right behind us, grabbing some of the bags as we head toward the elevator. Gabe stays close, his warm palm resting on my back in a way that both excites me and terrifies me. After tomorrow, he'll never touch me again.

I swallow hard as we step into the suite, hating the wave of nausea that washes over me. The old me would have been thrilled at the thought of Gabe leaving, but now that same thought is threatening to send me over the edge.

Stu and Gabe immediately head upstairs to do a security check while Jack and Bailey move through the downstairs rooms, ensuring everything is secure. I don't exactly see the point, given that Kat has been here all night, but I've long since stopped questioning their protocols.

I make my way into the living room, where the lights are dimmed to a cozy glow. Kat is curled up on one of the sofas, a fluffy blanket draped over her legs, with two glasses of red wine sitting on the coffee table. On the big screen, the black-and-white opening scene of Casablanca plays, our favorite movie and one that we've watched more times than I can count.

"Took you long enough," she teases, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. "Oh my god, yes. I'm starving. I was about ready to gnaw my own leg off. Tacos, please."

I laugh, setting the bags down and pulling out some plates from the cabinet. "The fridge is fully stocked, you know."

"Yeah, but with random healthy stuff I don't want to eat. I need carbs."

I start dividing up the tacos, arranging them on plates, and setting up a feast on the coffee table. Only Jack and Gabe return, settling into the room quietly, which means Bailey has probably gone to bed, and Stu has likely retreated to his room to brood over what happened. I try to push down the guilt and settle next to Kat on the sofa, sinking into the soft cushions.

Gabe and Jack squeeze onto the opposite sofa, balancing their plates on their laps. Kat unpauses the movie, the black-and-white scenes of Casablanca flickering across the screen.

"Oh god," Jack groans. "You couldn't have picked something from this decade?"

"Hey," Kat says defensively. "Casablanca is iconic."

Jack takes a big bite of his taco, chewing thoughtfully. "I wouldn't know. I like my movies in color."

"Blasphemy." Kat grabs a nearby pillow and tosses it at Jack. It hits him squarely in the chest, making him laugh. "It's one of the greatest love stories of all time," she insists, but Jack is too busy wolfing down tacos to listen. "An expatriate has to choose between his love for a woman and his duty."

I can't help myself—I risk a glance at Gabe. He's already watching me, his food untouched, something dangerous flickering in those dark eyes of his. He knows exactly what I'm thinking because he's thinking it too.

A sudden warmth floods my cheeks, forcing me to look away. You're reading him all wrong, warns the voice in my head—the one that's been hurt, fooled, and let down more times than I can count. But there's another voice, louder and more desperate, begging me not to listen. To act.

Unfortunately, both voices are drowned out by the movie playing in the background. I try to focus on my food, but my appetite has vanished. You're running out of time is all I can think, but I'm paralyzed with indecision. It's a delicate balance—opening up to Gabe while still trying to protect myself—like walking a tightrope. One wrong move, and it's all over. But if I don't do something?

He'll be gone for good.

God, I can't do this. I can't sit here and look at him, knowing I can't have him. I can't stand the fact that he'd rather leave without a fight than try to convince my mother or Stu to keep him around. How could I have thought he actually liked me if he was willing to just quit tomorrow?

"It's getting pretty late, and I'm tired," I say, getting to my feet. "I'm going to head to bed." I don't look at Gabe as I say it; I just head to my bedroom and step out onto the patio, desperate to put some distance between us. Whenever he's too close, it's like I suddenly can't think straight. Can't breathe.

I grip the balcony railing tightly as I lean forward, taking deep breaths while I stare at the vast ocean stretching endlessly beneath the dark night sky. It's a beautiful night, with a soft breeze rustling through the palm trees and the sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore. Any other time, I'd be calmed by such a beautiful view, but not tonight.

Not now.

I'm about to take another breath when I feel a strong, solid chest walk up behind me. A shiver runs through me as he leans closer, his familiar, warm cologne filling the air.

He shouldn't be this close. 

It's unprofessional. 

But he leans in even closer. 

"Is this the fight you promised me?" he asks.

"You wish," I say, ignoring the goosebumps that fly across my skin. "What's it to me if you want to quit?"

"I don't want to quit." His voice is a low, hard rasp in my ear as his hand slides down my hip. "I have to."

It's the first real touch we've shared in weeks, and it only makes me realize how much time I've wasted being angry at him for trying to protect me. If I'd known he was leaving, I'd have said and done everything I've been keeping inside, too afraid to let it out.

"Why?" I don't turn around. I can't. If I do, I'll see those dark eyes staring down at me, desperate to convince me that what I feel is wrong. "Because you don't want to protect me anymore?"

"No, Piccola." He presses his chest against my back, his arms coming around either side to grip the railing, trapping me in place. "Because I do."

I keep my eyes on the horizon, feeling his hard front nudging me; the need for him to lift up my dress and take me right here on the balcony overwhelming me.

"Whatever you're so worried about, I'm a big girl," I say, long past worrying about how messed up things might get if we're ever found out. My life is already a mess, so I might as well get my hands dirty. "I can take it."

His hand moves from my side to my throat, then slides up to my mouth. His thumb grazes my lips, parting them before dipping inside. "How much can you take, Piccola?"

His words send a jolt of electricity through me, igniting a fire between my legs that I've been trying—and failing—to extinguish. His fingers tighten around my chin, pulling me back into him, his touch possessive, claiming me. And the worst part?

I want to be claimed.

"All of it," I whisper.

The way his body hardens is almost immediate. His hot breath scorches my skin as he nuzzles my neck, taking a moment to breathe me in before speaking. "This is your last warning," he says, gently fisting my hair. "I won't be able to stop myself."

Heat floods through me at the punishing edge in his tone. Whatever happens next, whatever he's so afraid of, it's on me—and I don't care. I'll gladly face the consequences if it means putting out the fire inside me.

"Consider me warned," I breathe out.