Chapter 136: Chapter Eighty Five

Arian

Like I knew exactly where the story was headed, my heart had begun to pound a wild rhythm inside my chest. I placed a trembling hand over it, as if that simple act could tame the storm surging within me.

I didn’t want to ask if the girl had been from St. Louis Orphanage, but it didn’t take a genius to connect the pieces. Every word out of his mouth was nudging me closer to a truth I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

"Then… what happened?" I asked, breathlessly, even though a part of me wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

"I told her my name," he said, his voice calm, almost nostalgic. "I asked for hers, but she refused. Said if she told me, we’d become friends. And she didn’t want that."

That hit like a sucker punch to the gut. I remembered those words. God. I said that. I actually said that to him.

“She was holding an ice-cream cone, you said?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “It was melting all over her hand. I asked if she didn’t like it, and she said she wasn’t a fan of ice cream.”

He smiled wistfully, and I felt the air leave my lungs.

“Just like you,” he added.

“Me?” My voice shook as I forced out a laugh, but it sounded strange to my ears. Hollow. “No way.”

But I couldn’t lie to myself. I said those words. I wore that dress. I hated ice cream. Still do.

“Anyway…” He exhaled, jaw tightening. “She suffered second-degree burns from a fire that killed her mother. And her dad… that bastard… dumped her at the orphanage and never came back.”

His words sliced through me like broken glass. I gripped the railing beside me to steady myself, my knuckles whitening. It took everything in me not to turn and run away—to flee from the unraveling truth, from him, from myself. But I stayed.

“Then… what happened?” I asked again, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned to look at the children playing nearby, their laughter echoing through the air like a song from a happier time. His gaze softened.

“We danced,” he said quietly. “And I stayed with her until it was time for her to go. I asked if I could see her again. She told me she was getting adopted. Said I wouldn’t see her after that day.”

He shrugged with a sad sort of smile. “I waited twenty years… hoping she’d come back. But she either died… or forgot me the moment she left. Either way, I’ve never regretted meeting her.”

And that was it. The dam broke.

I felt the tears spill over, trailing down my cheeks before I could stop them. I lifted a hand to my face, half-hoping it was just the wind or maybe a stray raindrop—but no. I was crying. I was really crying.

I tried to wipe the tears quickly, but Gabriel turned just in time and caught sight of them. His brows furrowed.

“Why are you crying?” he asked gently.

“I don’t really like sad stories,” I lied.

He let out a short laugh. “It’s okay,” he said with a resigned smile. “We weren’t meant to be. I’ve accepted that. I just… I just hope she’s happy. Wherever she is.”

A lump formed in my throat, thick and unyielding. I wanted to tell him the truth—every last bit of it. That I was her. That I hadn’t died. That I hadn’t forgotten.

But how could I? What if he didn’t believe me? What if this face—the one the world saw as Maricruz Dela Paz—was nothing like the girl he remembered?

“Hm… I hope so too,” I muttered.

Then he did something that caught me off guard—he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I didn’t resist. I leaned into him and allowed myself, for the briefest moment, to feel it.

His warmth. His scent. His presence. I let myself believe, just for a second, that maybe fate had brought me back to him for a reason.

He’d been the boy who stole my first kiss. The one who made me feel beautiful even when I looked like I didn’t belong. He gave me one of his sister’s birthday gifts that day—something I’d treasured until the day it disappeared.

“Did you ever get her name?” I asked, the words trembling as they left my lips.

“Yes,” he nodded, eyes distant, lost in memory. “Her name was… Kareena.”

Everything inside me stilled.

“You named your daughter after her,” I said, though it wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” he said again. “Lucille, my parents, and hers—they all had different names in mind. But I stuck with that one. It was Kareena or nothing.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying again. He never forgot me.

“Do you still have her letter?” I asked, half-expecting him to say no. But something told me he did. Gabriel always seemed like the type to hold on to things that mattered.

“Yes. I had it framed. I couldn’t lose it… I didn’t want to.”

“Will you… show me sometime?” My voice cracked. I silently begged he wouldn’t notice, but he looked down at me with a soft smile and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Of course,” he said. “After the party.”

\~~~~~

The party had ended a little later than I expected, but I hadn’t minded—not when Kary’s joy was so infectious, so pure. Her excitement had known no bounds, and who was I to interrupt such happiness?

She had the kind of birthday little girls only dreamed of, the kind I’d once imagined for myself behind cold orphanage walls.

She’d gone to bed smiling, her arms wrapped tightly around the sterling silver tiara necklace with her name engraved on it—the one her father had gifted her.

It sparkled in the dim light like a promise, resting just above her heart, and I knew she’d never take it off willingly.

She was lucky, I thought as I quietly closed her door behind me. She was so lucky to have a father like him. So, so lucky.

I descended the stairs and made my way to Gabriel’s home office, deciding to wait for him there. He was still outside, finishing up with the caterers who had stayed behind to clean up.

I wandered slowly from one glass shelf to the next, taking in the plaques and awards lining the space—evidence of a life well-lived, of a man respected and accomplished.

And then came the pictures. Family portraits. Group photos. Graduation shots. There were several of Kary, a few of his parents… but none of Lucille.

Not a single one, I noted, the thought settling heavily in my chest. Strange. She was his wife, wasn’t she? It’s like she never even existed.

I didn’t get a chance to reflect on it further because the door behind me opened. I turned around just in time to see Gabriel step inside and quietly shut the door. Then, to my surprise, he turned the key in the lock.

My eyes darted to the door, then back to him, confused. “Gabriel?” I was about to ask what he was doing when I saw the look in his eyes—the heat, the hunger—and the question dissolved on my tongue.

His gaze roamed over me like I was something precious. I suddenly became aware of the dress I wore—The dress I wore was a soft, sleeveless, knee-length flare. The sweetheart neckline dipped just enough to tease.

I'd worn it for the party, not for him—at least, that's what I kept telling myself—but now I realized how it clung in just the right places, how it invited attention. His attention.

And the way he looked at me now? As though I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

God, I thought, my breath hitching. That look. No one has ever looked at me like that. Not even the man I married.

Now that I knew the truth—that he was the boy from so long ago, the one I hadn’t forgotten even when life tried to bury him beneath pain, trauma, and a loveless marriage—everything in me began to shift.

I realized something with startling clarity— I had never felt safer than I did when I was with him. Not then. Not now.

"Gabriel," I breathed, my voice trembling as he stepped forward and gently pulled me into him, his hand sliding up to the nape of my neck. Then, with infinite tenderness, he pressed the softest kiss to my lips.

My eyes fluttered shut, my heart catching in my chest.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t lust-driven. It was familiar, reverent—like he’d been waiting twenty years to do it again.

"I didn’t ask you to dance," he whispered against my lips, making my heart ache in ways I wasn’t prepared for.

He stepped away briefly, pulling out his phone and walking over to the speaker dock on one of the shelves. I watched him fumble with it for a few seconds, his brows furrowed in concentration until a soft melody began to pour out of the speakers.

Then he returned to me.

His hand found my waist, his fingers warm through the fabric of my dress. He took my other hand in his and pulled me closer, and just like that, we were dancing.

Slowly. Quietly. Just the two of us. In the middle of his office. The rest of the world melted away.

In his arms, the world faded. Everything else—my secrets, my fears, my doubts—fell away. But the weight in my chest grew heavier with each step.

I should tell him. He deserves to know. He has a right to know.

He had waited all these years for a girl named Kareena, and here I was—standing in front of him, dancing in his arms—yet I couldn’t say the words.

Tell him, I urged myself. Tell him who you are. Tell him what you’ve been through. Tell him before it’s too late.

But every time I opened my mouth, the words died in my throat. I just… couldn’t.

“Do you want to say something?” he asked, his voice low, his breath warm against my skin.

I like you, I thought. I like you more than I should. I like you too much to lie to you… but also too much to break whatever peace you’ve found.

I simply shook my head, swallowing back the truth as I met his gaze.

His eyes were impossibly blue. Kind. Searching.

Why didn’t I remember him sooner? Why did it take me this long to find him again?

"I like you so much, Gabriel," I whispered to myself in the silence between us, my heart tightening. But we can't be more than this.

It was the saddest truth I’d ever admitted to myself. But it was the truth nonetheless. I had nothing left to give him. My past was a mess, my future uncertain, and my heart—though it still beat for him—was too damaged to offer.

This had to be goodbye. For real this time.

I clung to him for a few more seconds, memorizing the moment—the warmth of his touch, the rhythm of our dance, the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek.

Then I let it go.

Because this time, I had to let him go… for good.