Chapter 27: Gabriel Pulled In

Gabriel told himself he wasn’t going.

That was the first lie.

The second lie was that he was only answering to shut her down once and for all.

But when Emily’s voice had broken through the line—fragile, trembling, threaded with panic—he’d felt something shift in his chest. Something ugly. Something he couldn’t ignore.

“Please, Gabriel,” she had whispered. “I didn’t know who else to call. The baby—something’s wrong.”

Now he stood outside her apartment, fists clenched, jaw locked tight.

He should have turned back. He should have called a doctor, sent someone else, or done anything but this.

Yet his hand still lifted, rapping hard against her door.

It opened almost immediately. Emily stood there, pale but glowing in that maddening way only she could manage. A silk robe clung to her frame, her hand pressed delicately against her stomach.

“Gabriel,” she breathed, her eyes glistening as if she’d been crying.

Something twisted inside him.

“What happened?” His voice came out rough, clipped.

She stepped back, motioning him in. “I thought I was losing it. Cramping, pain… I panicked. I didn’t want to be alone.”

He hesitated, caught between instinct and reason, then stepped inside. The apartment smelt like lavender and something faintly sweet. Too composed for an emergency. His suspicion flared, but his gaze dropped despite himself—her hand still resting on her stomach.

Emily noticed. Of course she did.

Her lip trembled. “I know you don’t believe me. I know you think I made all this up. But Gabriel…” Her voice cracked perfectly. “I’m terrified. This is your child. Our child. And I don’t want to lose it.”

The words hit like hammers. Our child.

He dragged a hand over his face, pacing a step back. “Emily…” He stopped, voice breaking. “I don’t remember. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

She moved closer, her eyes shimmering, soft, imploring. “Then let me help you remember.”

Her hand reached for his.

For a second, Gabriel didn’t pull away.

__

The clock ticked past midnight.

I sat curled on the living room sofa, one lamp casting a pale glow over the room. My phone lay heavy in my hand, the call log mocking me with unanswered attempts.

Three calls. No response.

Gabriel had left hours ago. He hadn’t said where; he just stormed out after another argument, leaving me with nothing but silence and the echo of the door slamming shut.

My chest ached, sharp and hollow. I had told myself he was clearing his head. That he’d gone for a drive. That he’d come back.

But deep down, I knew.

The proof came in the form of a single ping. A notification.

My pulse jumped as I opened it. A text. From a number I didn’t recognise. No words—just a photo.

Gabriel.

Standing in Emily’s doorway.

Emily’s hand on his chest, her silk robe parted just enough to look suggestive.

The caption beneath:

“Loyal husbands don’t knock here at midnight.”

My breath caught. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the floor.

My vision blurred, hot tears stinging my eyes. I pressed a fist to my mouth to stop the sob that clawed its way up.

He went to her. After everything, he still went to her.

For a moment, the pain swallowed my whole body. But beneath it, another feeling began to rise. Darker. Stronger.

Fury.

Emily had crossed another line—and dragged Gabriel across it too.

I bent, picked up the phone with steady hands, and wiped my tears away with the back of my wrist. My reflection stared back from the black screen, hollow-eyed but alive with something I hadn’t seen before.

This wasn’t just about saving my marriage anymore. It wasn’t even about Gabriel’s love.

It was about survival. About not letting Emily bury me alive.

I straightened, my voice a whisper that tasted like iron.

“You want a war? Fine. You’ll regret starting one with me.”

—

Emily shut the door softly, leaning against it, a slow smile unfurling across her lips.

Gabriel was in her apartment.

Finally,

She smoothed the silk robe over her waist and glanced back toward the living room where he stood, tense, arms crossed like a soldier waiting for orders. He hadn’t touched her—yet. But he hadn’t walked out either.

That was all she needed.

One picture. One moment. One seed of doubt. That’s how reputations crumbled. That’s how wives were dethroned.

She picked up her phone from the side table, fingers flying. A quick snap earlier at the door, Gabriel blurred just enough to keep the photo looking candid, his body language telling the story she wanted. She sent it to one of her little “anonymous” numbers, the ones she used for leaks.

Within minutes, it would spread. Eve would see it. And she’d crack.

Emily turned her gaze back on Gabriel, softening her eyes, letting her voice tremble just enough.

“Thank you for coming,” she whispered, stepping closer. “I know how hard this is for you. But I didn’t know who else to call. You’ve always been the one I trusted.”

He didn’t move, his jaw taut. “Emily, if this was some trick—”

“Trick?” She let her hand hover near his, not touching, but close. “You think I would lie about this?” She glanced down at her stomach, her lips trembling. “This is your child, Gabriel. Ours. I’m terrified every day I’ll lose it, and then—then I’ll lose you forever.”

She let the tears fall, perfectly timed, perfectly placed.

For a heartbeat, his expression wavered. Not acceptance. Not love. But hesitation.

And hesitation was all she needed.

Because in war, hesitation killed faster than bullets.

Emily’s smile flickered—small, secret.

“Eve can scream all she wants,” she thought, watching Gabriel struggle with himself. “But the more she fights me, the guiltier she’ll look. And when the world chooses sides, they’ll choose me.”

—

I sat in the dark, phone clenched in my hands, my heart still raw from the photo. Every time I blinked, I saw it again—Gabriel at Emily’s door, her silk robe, her hand pressed against him like she owned him.

The betrayal gnawed, chewed, and swallowed whole.

My phone buzzed. For a second, I almost didn’t look. I couldn’t take more.

But the name lit across the screen: Sebastian.

My chest tightened as I swiped it open.

Sebastian: I’ve started digging. And you’ll want to hear this.

I called immediately, not bothering with text. The line clicked, his voice steady, low, almost dangerous.

“Eve. The records Emily gave Gabriel? They’re doctored.”

My breath caught. “Doctored? Are you sure?”

“One hundred per cent. The lab number on her results? It belongs to a clinic, yes. But the paperwork was altered. The formatting is off—subtle, but sloppy. More importantly, the physician signature? I pulled the real one. They don’t match. She forged it.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth. Relief, sharp and dizzying, burst through the fog of despair.

“She faked it,” I whispered. “I knew it.”

Sebastian’s voice hardened. “That sonogram, though—that’s trickier. It’s real. But not hers. The file number traces back to a different patient. A woman who miscarried months ago. Emily must have gotten her hands on it somehow.”

My stomach turned. “God. She’s sicker than I thought.”

“That’s not all,” Sebastian continued. “The account that paid for the lab visit? A shell company. No n

ame attached. Which means she isn’t working alone. Someone with money and reach is backing her.”

The small spark of triumph gutted. “So it’s bigger than Emily.”