Clara and her mother froze in absolute shock. Both let out a muffled scream, covering their mouths in horror. Her mother rushed to Victor, who lay on the ground, semi-conscious and mumbling incoherently. The punch had been devastating; Victor was twice Gabriel's age, and a blow to the jaw at that force left him in a pitiful state.
Clara didn't move to help her father. Instead, she stood paralyzed, her eyes locked onto Gabriel's. She was caught between tension and disbelief; she never expected him to judge her father with such brutal violence.
Gabriel gave Victor one last icy look. "You'd better filter your filthy mouth before you speak again," he muttered before walking away, indifferent to the screams of Victor's wife behind him.
Inside his mansion, Gabriel wanted nothing more than a glass of whiskey and a dreamless sleep. He was unbuttoning his shirt, heading to his study, when his wife's shrill voice cut through the air. "Gabriel!"
"I'm not in the mood. We'll talk later," he said coldly, ignoring her.
"Why weren't you at work today?! Where were you?!" she screamed.
He didn't stop. "None of your business."
"You missed a critical meeting for 'The New Resort Acquisition'! Do you realize what we've lost?!"
He stopped and turned to her, his eyes filled with pure disgust. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep. Nag me when I wake up."
She rushed toward him, sniffing his clothes like a hound to see if he had been drinking. "You're not drunk... so why did you skip?! We lost the 'Real Estate Merger' because of you!"
His exhaustion flared into a lethal rage. He was sick of her "concerns," which were always about the money. To her, he was a business partner first; a loss for the company was a loss for her bank account.
"Marcus... he's the one who told you I was absent, isn't he?" he asked in a low, threatening tone.
She nodded hesitantly. "It doesn't matter who told me! Just be sensible and don't bankrup us!"
"You're making my day worse. Get out of my sight!" He shoved her aside and kept walking.
Gabriel knew from the start that Marcus would be the one to snitch. Her handsome cousin with blond hair and piercing green eyes was more than just a relative to Elena. Gabriel knew she loved him; he had known since the day she begged and pressured him to hire Marcus at the firm, just to keep him close.
His suspicions were cemented into a bitter reality the day he caught them. He saw Marcus dropping her off, and before she stepped out, Elena leaned in and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips—a warmth she had never shown Gabriel, and never would.
He didn't feel jealousy; his heart had never belonged to her. Instead, he felt pure disgust at her charade. Elena never loved him. She viewed their marriage as her greatest "achievement." Although she had been forced into the marriage on day one, just as he had been, her hesitation vanished the moment she laid eyes on his wealth, his estates, and the vast inheritance his father left behind.
Every romantic gesture she made now was a calculated, desperate act to keep him from filing for divorce. She feared losing the lifestyle he provided. As for Gabriel, he endured this hollow marriage for one reason only: his two children. He refused to let them pay the price for their parents' mistakes, and he wouldn't dream of stripping them of their stability or their youth through a divorce that would shatter the lives of the two souls he loved more than life itself.
Gabriel sat behind his massive oak desk, pouring a glass of whiskey as a cold silence filled the room. He was putting himself on trial. He didn't know if punching Gabriel's dad was the "right" thing to do, but he had done what he'd spent a lifetime wishing he could.
Growing up, he was a front-row spectator to his father's brutality. Every time he tried to pull his sister away, he'd get beat down too. He was helpless. He still remembered the day he promised her: "When I grow up, I'm gonna be strong. And if the old man ever lays a hand on you again, I'm gonna lay him out flat. I promise."
Sarah died before he could make good on that word. But in a twisted way, he'd finally kept his promise. Seeing Clara cower under Victor was like seeing a ghost. He wasn't about to let history repeat itself. Whether Clara was relieved or pissed off didn't matter to him; he was busy killing his own demons.
He downed his second glass, then his third, until the bottle was nearly bone-dry. His mind drifted from Victor to the time he spent with Clara. It was the first time in forever he'd actually laughed out loud with someone. Mama Rosa was a breath of fresh air, and the fact that Clara's best friend was a sweet old lady—not some bratty teenager—spoke volumes. She was a soul looking for someone who actually got her. She was sharp, composed, and carried a heavy kind of maturity that his daughter, Beth, didn't have. The pain of losing her brother had stripped away her childhood and forced her to face reality way too soon.
The next day went by like any other until it was time to pick up Beth from school. He expected to see Clara there so he could apologize for the drama with her dad, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, Beth stood on the curb alone, looking totally bummed out.
"Hey, Dad," she said, hopping in and giving him a quick peck on the cheek.
"How was your day, sweetie?" he asked, pulling back into traffic.
"Sucked. Clara wasn't there today. I missed yesterday, and she missed today. School's a total drag without her," she said with a dramatic, childish sigh.
"I see. Did you text her?"
"I tried, but she's totally MIA. No signal, no replies. I think she's sick or something. It sucks that we've only hung out once since we moved here," she pouted.
Two scenarios raced through Gabriel's mind. Either she was playing nurse to her "injured" dad, or she was the one hurting because Victor took his frustration out on her once he woke up. A man like that would definitely pull his daughter out of school after seeing her with a guy twice her age.
"Don't pout. Maybe some ice cream will fix that mood?" he said, his voice flat but trying to be comforting.
She beamed at him. "You're the best dad ever!"
"Oh, cut it out," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
He pulled up to a big ice cream truck and handed her some cash. Beth left her phone on the seat as she scrambled out. Gabriel stared at the screen. He knew Clara's number was in there. He'd never been the type to poke his nose into other people's business, but without a second thought, he snatched the phone, copied the number, and slid it back before Beth returned, completely distracted by her ice cream.
Night fell, and Gabriel had already showered and slipped into something comfortable. He skipped the booze tonight; he had a plan, and he needed to stay sharp. He pulled up his laptop, added her number, and fired off a text. No name, just a cryptic message that felt like something out of a psychological thriller.
-gabriel: "Hope his jaw is the only thing broken tonight... You okay?"
The reply was instant and cold. "How'd you get this number?"
-Gabriel: "Beth."
-clara: "Stay the hell away from me."
-gabriel :"My bad... lost my cool."
-clara: "Whatever. Goodnight."
-gabriel: "I asked if you're okay."
-Clara: "None of your business."
-Gabriel: "Backyard park. I'll be waiting."
-Clara: "Who do you think you are?"
-Gabriel: "Don't be late."
He shut his phone, grabbed his coat, and headed into the biting night air. He sat on a bench in the secluded back alley park, lighting a cigarette with the calm confidence of a man who knew exactly how to pull strings. But thirty minutes turned into forty. He figured her old man probably locked her down, or maybe she just plain hated his guts.
Then, he saw her. A small silhouette moving through the shadows. She was bundled up in a heavy coat and a scarf, pajamas peeking out from underneath. She was hugging herself against the freezing wind, and she looked so damn adorable Gabriel couldn't help but smirk.
"What the hell is your problem?" she snapped, her brow furrowed in anger.
"You said that in the texts already. Don't repeat yourself," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"You punch my dad and then expect me to just show up? Who the hell do you think you are?"
"And yet, here you are," he countered.
She went quiet, her anger melting into something more fragile. Gabriel apologized softly, but she fired back, "You could've done this at school. And I'm not the one you owe an apology to—my dad is!"
"Keep it down, will you?" he asked calmly. She let out a frustrated sigh and sat beside him, looking completely defeated.
"I'm sorry. I thought knocking him out would end it," he admitted.
"How is violence ever the answer? Why is that the only language you men speak?" her eyes welled up with tears.
"I'm not like your father, Clara. But back there, he needed to go down. I thought it'd stop him."
"It didn't stop him. It just gave him a reason to take the rest of his rage out on me!"
Gabriel's face hardened. The realization hit him like a freight train. His "heroics" had only made her a target.
"Damn it," he hissed, lighting another cigarette, his guilt gnawing at him. "Where'd he hit you?"
"None of your business," she said, pulling her coat and scarf tighter around her neck and chest.
He didn't need a map. He stood up, crushed his cigarette under his boot, and exhaled one last puff of smoke. He stepped toward her, towering over her.
"Move your hand," he commanded.
He firmly but gently pried her hand away from her chest, his fingers sliding under the edge of her coat, grazing her cold skin.
"Shhh... It's okay."