My stomach gives a traitorous rumble, but my mind is reeling.
"How did you know?" I ask, looking up at him. "This is my specific order from the cafe on 4th."
Gabriel leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He takes a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. He looks smug as hell when the side of his lip tilts up.
"I know a lot of things about you," he says calmly. "Eat."
A chill skitters down my spine. The rational part of my brain knows this is a red flag the size of a billboard.
But I'm staring at a plate with no cantaloupe, made by a man who noticed things Ryder never bothered to learn. My ex couldn't remember how I took my coffee. Gabriel knows what fruit I pick out of a cup. It's unsettling. It's also the most seen I've felt in years.
I take a bite. It’s perfect.
"So," I say between bites, trying to keep things casual. "This was... fun. Revenge is sweet, literally. But I should probably get going. I have a lot of work to do to try and salvage my business."
Gabriel sets his mug down. "You're not going anywhere."
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. "Excuse me?"
He gestures with his chin toward the living room, visible through the open archway.
The fork clatters against the plate as I abandon breakfast, slide off the stool, and walk toward the living room on unsteady legs.
My breath catches in my throat when I see what he’s done.
There are boxes.
Dozens of them. Stacked neatly in the center of the room.
All of them are labeled things likekitchenorbathroom.
I recognize the lamp sitting on top of a stack.
I recognize the throw pillows spilling out of an open box.
"What is this?" My voice comes out high and thin. I spin around to face him. "What did you do?"
"I had my team pack up your apartment last night while you were sleeping," he says, as casually as if he’s discussing the weather. "Your lease has been terminated. The locks have been changed. You live here now."
"You can't do that!" I sputter, anger finally piercing through the shock.
"Who’s going to stop me?" he says dryly. "I can do whatever I want."
He stops right in front of me, towering over me. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I bat his hand away.
"You can't just kidnap me, Gabriel! This is insane. I have a life. I have?—"
"You have a struggling business that my son destroyed," he cuts in. "You have an apartment in a neighborhood that isn't safe. You have debt." He steps closer, crowding me. "Here, you have security. You have comfort. And you have me."
"That's not the point!" I stomp my foot and I swear the bastard’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. "You are bulldozing my entire life."
Gabriel pushes off the counter. He stalks around the island, moving into my space until I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
"I’m upgrading your life," he says, his voice dropping to that low register that vibrates in my chest. "You were living in a shoebox in a bad neighborhood, struggling to pay rent because my son ruined your reputation. Now you’re here. You’re safe. You’re taken care of."
"I don't need to be taken care of," I argue, though the protest sounds weak even to my own ears. "I'm independent."
"You're exhausted," he counters. He reaches up, his thumb brushing under my eye. "I see it. You’re tired of fighting. You’re tired of scraping by. So stop."
