Chapter Eighty Seven
Chapter Eighty Seven
Gabriel
Arian’s whimpers woke me, and despite being utterly drained from our earlier fuckfest, I forced my eyes open and propped myself up on my elbows to look at her. She was restless, her face twisted in pain as though trapped in some cruel discomfort, yet unable to wake from her dream.
“No, please don’t kill him. Please.” She cried in her sleep, her voice breaking.
“Arian,” I called softly, hoping my voice would pull her back. “Wake up. It’s a dream.”
“I won’t love him. I swear to you, Rafa.”
I froze. The name hit me like a bullet. Rafa. Who the hell was that? My first thought was of the dead man, but she had spoken in the present tense.
That made no sense. My hand twitched, wanting to wake her, but curiosity anchored me in place. Against my better judgment, I let her continue, hoping to uncover the truth of what haunted her.
“I will never love any man.” Tears streamed down her face, glistening in the dim light. “Never ever. I promise.”
My gut twisted painfully. Was that her vow? Her truth? She jerked awake then, dragging herself violently out of the nightmare. Sitting up, she panted heavily, disoriented, her eyes darting around my bedroom as if she didn’t recognize it. Until they landed on me.
“Gabriel? How did… did I fall asleep?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“Yes.” I nodded, my heart still pounding from what I’d overheard. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she replied quickly. Too quickly.
“Are you sure?” I pressed, because I wasn’t.
“Of course.” Her brows furrowed, her defensive tone grating. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because… you just woke up from a nightmare,” I reminded her, though we both knew I’d heard every word.
She turned her head away, avoiding my gaze. That avoidance told me everything: she knew I’d heard, and she didn’t want to explain.
“I have to go back to my room.” She pushed the covers aside and climbed out of bed, scanning for clothes. Finding none, she walked—completely naked—into my closet while I remained half lying there, my mind spinning. Whatever dream had just ripped through her wasn’t a good omen. I knew it.
She returned a moment later, dressed in one of my shirts that hung to mid-thigh. I was certain she had slipped on a pair of my boxers too—Arian would never settle for walking the hallways half-exposed.
She went to the bathroom without a word and emerged a minute later, her face a blank mask, as though she had scrubbed off all traces of her nightmare.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as she headed for the door. I got out of bed, not bothering to cover myself. My nudity had an effect on her—her cheeks flushed pink and she looked away.
“Nothing. I’m just going to my room… to sleep,” she said.
“We always sleep together after—”
“Gabriel.” She cut me off sharply. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore.”
Her words sliced through me.
“Why not?”
“I just can’t. I don’t have a reason.” She shook her head. “I’ve sinned enough and I want to put an end to it. I want us to go back to the way we were before… this.” She gestured at me, naked, exposed in every sense. “We’re not setting a good example for your daughter.”
“It’s not like she knows we were fucking,” I said bitterly. “She only knows we’re in a relationship.”
“I don’t think we should even classify this as a relationship,” she shot back. “I don’t see it that way. I’m… grateful to you for… helping me with my… orgasm problem, but that’s about it.”
Her words gutted me. I sucked in a sharp breath, trying not to let it show. I had always known she didn’t feel the same way I did. I had told myself I was prepared for it.
But the truth? It still hurt like hell. She had knocked the air from my lungs, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.
“We’ll go back to the way we were. You’ll be Mr. Cruz to me, and I’ll just be Arian… your daughter’s nanny.” Her voice was flat, detached, almost cruel in its neutrality.
“You need to tell me we can go back to the professional part of this… ‘relationship.’” She even air-quoted the word like it was an absurd joke.
“If I don’t want that?” I asked, my voice surprisingly steady, though my insides were crumbling.
She lifted her chin, her eyes already telling me what her mouth confirmed: “Then you’ll have to find another nanny if we can’t go back to the way we were.”
I turned my head so she wouldn’t see the tears burning in my eyes. I was a grown man, for Christ’s sake, yet here I was breaking apart because of her.
“If that’s what you want,” I said at last, turning my back to her. “You have my word I’ll never treat you any differently than I do my employees.”
“Thank you, sir.” Her words cut deeper with the formality. I heard the door open, then her final dagger: “Goodnight.”
The door clicked shut behind her, and that sound—so simple, so soft—reverberated through me like a nuclear bomb detonating in my chest.
I staggered to the bathroom and turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the ache lodged in my ribs. Minutes later, I crossed to my closet to dress.
The gym called to me, and I intended to work out until my body collapsed, because that was easier than lying in bed haunted by the memory of her voice saying she couldn’t love me.
It had been a month, and I still couldn’t wrap my head—or my heart—around the fact that Arian was done with me. Truly done this time. She had tried to end our so-called “relationship” many times before, but I always managed to seduce her back into my arms.
I’d convinced myself that this time would be no different. But I had been wrong.
Whatever she had dreamed that night had solidified her resolve. By the next morning, she was calling me Mr. Cruz again—as if every kiss, every touch, every night spent tangled in my sheets had been erased.
To Kary, she remained the same warm, nurturing Arian. But to me? She had become a stranger. A stranger who had once known every corner of my body and every weakness of my heart.
I tried to drown the ache by burying myself in work, traveling when there was no real need, keeping myself constantly in motion. But nothing helped. No deal, no meeting, no distraction was strong enough to silence the echo she had left behind.
And so, I ended up here—slumped at the bar, drinking my misery away and hoping that being dead drunk would finally numb the pain she had carved into me.
“Don’t serve him anymore.”
The voice beside me was sharp, irritated, and instantly familiar. My brows furrowed as I lifted my head from the glass, my eyes bleary, trying to focus.
And then I saw him—my father, glaring down at me with the same disapproving look I had grown up dreading.
“Daad! You’re here!” My words came out slurred, but I was sure he understood me. I waved clumsily toward the bartender. “Join me. Another round for both of us.”
The bartender ignored me, probably relieved someone else was about to drag me out.
“You’re drunk,” my father hissed. “What’s wrong with you?”
I let out a loud laugh, the kind that was more hollow than amused. “Howie did you find me?” I slurred again, chuckling at my own lame joke. “Did you see what I did there?” My father rolled his eyes heavenward, the way he always did when he was seconds away from losing patience.
“Let’s go.” He slipped one of my arms around his neck and heaved me off the stool. My body swayed, too loose, too heavy with liquor and grief. Another set of hands grabbed my other arm, and together they hauled me out of the bar.
“This feels so good,” I muttered between drunken laughter, stumbling over my own feet. “I should do this more often.”
“I guess you’re not that drunk,” my father grunted. “Your speech is becoming more coherent.”
We made it outside, the cool air hitting me like a slap. They shoved me gently into the backseat of his car, and the door clicked shut. I curled into myself on the leather seats, not caring that my shoes smeared dirt across the expensive upholstery. For once, I didn’t care about anything.
The car lurched into motion, and I let the hum of the engine lull me. My body sagged with exhaustion, and for the first time in weeks, my mind quieted.
No thoughts of Arian. No memory of her voice saying she couldn’t do this anymore. Just darkness. Blessed, temporary darkness.