“Get dressed and leave.”
“Wait, let me explain.” He moves toward me, panic bleeding into every motion. “I can fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix.” My fingers curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. “You investigated me behind my back. You let me believe I was choosing to share my past with you, when you already knew.”
“Saint—”
“No.” I cut him off. “You don’t get to say my name anymore. You don’t get to pretend you care about me when all you wanted was information.”
Gabriel moves forward, hand outstretched to bridge the gap between us. “That’s not true. The filecame after, not before. I’ve wanted you since the moment we first met.”
I step back as he approaches, and the movement stops him in his tracks.
“You talked about trust last night,” I whisper. “All while keeping those files in your car.”
“I was trying to protect you.” Water drips from his hair onto his shoulders, tracking down his chest in rivulets. “I needed to know what we were facing.”
“There is nowe.” I hold perfectly still. “There never was.”
Devastation replaces his panic, and his arms fall limply at his sides, shoulders slumping in defeat. The towel slips lower on his hips, but he doesn’t move to fix it.
“Your clothes are still in the bedroom.” I gesture toward the hallway. “Take them and go.”
For a moment, I think he might fight, might refuse to leave, might try once more to explain. Instead, his chin dips in acceptance.
He retreats to the bedroom, returning moments later dressed in yesterday’s clothes. His hair remains damp, curling at the ends, and water spots darken the fabric of his shirt.
He pauses at the door, hand resting on the knob. “I never meant to hurt you. Everything between us was real.Isreal.”
“You can’t build real on lies.” I turn away from him, staring at the wall above my couch. “Shut the door behind you.”
The silence stretches, broken only by the sound of his uneven breathing. Then the door opens, the hinges creaking.
“I’m sorry, Saint.”
The click of the door closing echoes through my apartment, a sound that should bring relief but instead carves out a chunk of flesh from my chest.
I stand motionless, my body a statue, while my mind races through the betrayal on high-speed replay.
The room tilts, reality shifting beneath my feet. Breathe. I force air into my lungs, the expansion painful beneath my ribs.
My eyes return to the manila folder sitting on the counter where I left it. Innocuous beige paper containing the worst moments of my life, laid bare for someone else’s scrutiny.
ForGabriel’sscrutiny.
The thought of him reading those pages, absorbing descriptions of my trauma, sends acid burning up my throat.
Then a dangerous numbness spreads from mychest outward, creeping through my limbs with familiar coldness.
Two can play at this investigation game.
I reach for my phone, scrolling to a contact I rarely use. Ghost answers on the second ring.
“I want you to look into Gabriel Rockford for me.” I walk into the bedroom and yank the cum-covered sheets off the bed. “Send a courier to my place for a pickup. I need a DNA test run. I should have enough favors in the ledger to cover it.”
A pause, brief but considering. “You sure about this?”
The numbness recedes, replaced by cold focus. If Gabriel Rockford thinks he can dissect my life without consequences, he’s about to learn what it feels like to be the one under the knife.
