Chapter 131 Chapter One hundred and thirty
ARA
“We cannot possibly do that.”
Thayne’s response was immediate, too immediate. Final. Like a door slammed shut before I could even reach the handle.
“We cannot?” I echoed. “Why the heavens not?”
I wasn’t angry, just confused. I hadn’t expected such a sharp rejection, not from him, not over something that felt… logical.
“My mother…” He paused, the word catching in his throat. “She’s been through too much, Ara. And I—”
He didn’t finish. Instead, he turned his face away, as if the rest of the sentence would cost him something he couldn’t afford to lose.
That was when I saw it. The slight tremble of his lips. The tight blink of his eyelids. The way his jaw clenched like he was physically holding something back.
Pain. Raw, old and unhealed. I’d never seen Thayne cry, not once. I’d seen him furious, ruthless, controlled to the point of cruelty. But this? This quiet fracture in him was new. And it startled me.
I stepped closer instinctively.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I shouldn’t have brought her up. I should have known better than to stir the subject.”
The last time we’d gone to see her, it hadn’t ended well. She hadn’t been mentally or emotionally stable, and even I had felt the fragility of her world then, how one wrong word could shatter her.
I understood why Thayne believed another visit would only reopen wounds that had never properly healed.
“I just thought…” My voice softened. “I thought she might have clues about my sisters’ father. It was selfish of me to forget that it wouldn’t be easy for you, or for her.”
I turned to leave, not trusting myself to say anything else.
His hand closed around my arm.
“Ara.”
The way he said my name made me stop.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I did something bad.” His grip tightened slightly, as if he were afraid I’d disappear if he let go. “I need you to know I didn’t do it intentionally. I was trying to save her. She—”
He fell silent, the rest of the words lodged somewhere deep in his chest.
I turned back to face him, my confusion sharpening into unease. “Save her from what, Thayne?”
His eyes searched mine, conflicted, haunted.
“I got a call late one night, while you were in Paris.” he said quietly. “It was a short notice. They said she was on the roof. No one knew how she’d gotten there.” His voice roughened. “She was screaming for your mother. Calling her name. Asking why she’d left her all alone.”
My chest tightened.
“So I told her…” He swallowed. “I told her you were gone.”
“Gone?” I asked, dread creeping up my spine. “Gone where?”
“I said, ‘Lola is dead. She is dead.’”
I pressed my lips together, fighting the surge of emotion threatening to spill out. “You had no right,” I said finally, my voice shaking despite my effort to steady it. “She believed I was my mother. That belief made her happy. Truly happy. You ripped the only joy she had left from her.”
His head snapped up. “You think I didn’t know that?” he snapped back. “She was about to jump off a roof, Ara! I was trying to save her, the only way I could think of!”
I nodded slowly. “Yes. I understand that.” Then I lifted my eyes to his. “To save her, you took away everything she had left.”
His jaw clenched. “She had me,” he said fiercely. “She has me.”
I shook my head. “No, Thayne. She has your face. Your voice. Your blood.” My voice softened, but the truth didn’t. “The reason she treats you the way she does is because she sees your father every time she looks at you. She doesn’t know how to separate you from him.”
He flinched.
“And by lying to her,” I continued quietly, “you proved her fear right. You became the one who took Lola away from her.”
The words settled between us like a bridge none of us wanted to cross.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself. He said nothing at all.
He dropped my arm, and I turned around, leaving in tears.
I bumped into Stuart in the hallway of our private floor.
“Mrs. Slade,” he greeted.
The title hit me wrong, heavy, swollen, and unfamiliar. Like it belonged to someone else entirely.
Someone older. Someone harder. Everything that I was not.
“Yes, Stuart,” I replied, swiping at my cheeks before the tears could betray me.
“Gabe is currently in the lobby,” he said carefully. “Under heavy restraint, of course. He asked if Mr. Slade was available—”
“No,” I cut in sharply. “He’s not.”
Stuart paused, his expression doubtful.
“Take me to Gabe,” I said authoritatively. “I can handle the interrogation.”
His brows rose questioningly. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Slade—”
“I said I can handle it,” I repeated, firmer now. “Lead the way.”
Stuart studied me for a second longer, as if weighing the consequences, then exhaled and nodded. “This way, ma’am.”
As we walked, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I needed something, anything, to pull my mind away from Liliana.
From the truth I wasn’t allowed to touch. From the way Thayne’s past had slammed a door in my face.
The elevator ride felt endless. When the doors slid open to the lobby, Stuart stepped aside, giving me space.
And then I saw him.
Gabe sat restrained between two men, his wrists bound, his posture still infuriatingly relaxed, like this was a delay, not a downfall.
When he lifted his head and his eyes met mine, recognition flickered… then satisfaction.
He smiled. It was not a soft smile. Not regret. Not guilt.
It was a dirty, knowing smirk, the kind he used to wear when he thought he’d already won.
My stomach twisted, but I didn’t stop walking.
That hallway, that lobby, that distance between us, it all collapsed into one unbearable truth:
This was the man who had touched my life, my body, my trust… And then shattered it without blinking.
And now, he was smiling at me like I still belonged to him. I stopped in front of him.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked lightly.
I looked down at him, and for the first time since everything fell apart, I felt something stronger than pain.
I felt clarity. I didn’t hesitate. I drew my arm back and swung. My fist connected with his face with a sickening crack, bone against bone. The sound echoed through the lobby.
Gabe’s head snapped to the side, his smirk shattering along with his nose. Blood burst instantly, spilling over his lip and dripping onto the marble floor.
He cried out, more in shock than pain, his body jerking against the restraints as he sucked in a broken breath.
My knuckles throbbed, but the ache felt earned, cleansing, even.
I leaned closer, my voice low and steady, stripped of every last ounce of softness I’d ever wasted on him.
“Now,” I said, watching him breathe raggedly, “we can start talking.”