Chapter 93 I Don't Mind!
"Get out!" Arabella snapped without hesitation.
Seeing her flushed face, looking particularly charming in her embarrassment, Gabriel felt his dark mood instantly lift. He couldn't resist teasing her.
"You need to get dressed, and I need to get dressed too. How about you help me and I help you?" he joked playfully while pulling a clean shirt from his bag.
Arabella glanced at the wrinkled shirt at the foot of the bed, remembering how he'd used his expensive dress shirt as a makeshift cloth last night before she'd slapped him. Her face turned even redder.
Gabriel was just joking around. Seeing she wouldn't respond, he changed his clothes first, then opened the door to step out.
But he quickly returned, carrying a pack of tissues. "Sure you don't want my help?" he asked, holding them out to her.
Arabella didn't want to acknowledge him, but she genuinely needed the tissues right now. With a cold expression, she snatched them away and cleaned herself up under the covers.
Footsteps sounded outside. Gabriel figured Manuel had returned, and his expression immediately grew serious. He stepped back outside, making sure to close the door firmly behind him.
Manuel entered the main room, setting the breakfast he'd brought on the old wooden table. "Some local breakfast from town," he said. "I hope it's to Mr. Sterling's taste."
Gabriel responded sarcastically: "How thoughtful of Mr. Wright to buy breakfast. I'm hardly worthy of such consideration."
Manuel replied smoothly: "I bought it for Arabella. You're just an afterthought—no need to be polite."
"..."
Inside the room, Arabella heard their conversation and knew trouble was brewing. She hurriedly finished dressing.
Though she dreaded facing Manuel—the shame was overwhelming—she was more worried about Gabriel losing control and targeting him.
She had to get out there and run interference.
The moment Arabella opened the door, she locked eyes with Gabriel.
Ignoring him, she forced herself to overcome her embarrassment and greeted Manuel. "Morning, Manuel."
Seeing her evasive gaze and timid demeanor, Manuel thought of how Gabriel had reduced her to tears the night before. Far from looking down on her, he felt only pity and heartache.
"Good morning! Go wash up and have breakfast. I got sandwiches and spicy meatball marinara pasta," Manuel said with a gentle smile, gesturing toward the food on the table.
"Spicy meatball marinara pasta? That's wonderful!" Arabella's face lit up with genuine delight.
Whispering Pines' spicy meatball marinara was a beloved local specialty—something she never missed whenever she visited home.
She rushed off to wash up, unable to contain her excitement.
Manuel pulled up a chair and started eating.
Noticing Gabriel hadn't moved, he glanced back. "Mr. Sterling probably can't stomach our common folk's food. It's only a half-hour drive to the city center—I'm sure the five-star hotels have breakfast buffets."
He was deliberately needling Gabriel.
Gabriel smiled coldly, his eyes glinting with frost. "How modest of you, Mr. Wright. Someone who casually throws around fifteen billion dollars on projects can hardly claim to be common folk."
They'd both been eyeing the same project recently, with Manuel as one of the primary investors, stunning everyone with his fifteen-billion-dollar commitment.
With wealth like that, he was definitely upper class. Why mock Gabriel for being out of touch?
If Gabriel was wrong for Arabella due to their social mismatch, then Manuel was equally unsuitable.
Gabriel hadn't washed up since arriving. As he finished speaking, Arabella came back in after brushing her teeth. He turned to ask, "Where are my toiletries?"
Arabella glanced at him with cool indifference. "I didn't bring any for you."
Of course she hadn't—he'd shown up in the middle of the night without warning.
Gabriel wasn't surprised. He casually took the cup from her hands.
"What are you doing?!" Arabella jumped, turning to shout at him.
The man kept his eyes lowered, calmly taking her toothbrush from the cup and methodically squeezing toothpaste onto it. "Since you didn't prepare anything for me, I'll have to use yours."
What?
Arabella's eyes went wide as she stared at him in disbelief. "But... I already used that!"
"So what? We've done far more intimate things than this countless times. Why would this matter?" Gabriel finished applying the toothpaste, then looked at her with a roguish smile, his voice taking on a sultry tone. "I don't mind."
"..." Arabella stared at his actions, her entire face burning red as she was struck speechless.
She barely recognized Gabriel anymore!
In just a month or two, he'd become like a completely different person. His words and behavior were utterly transformed—it was terrifying!
Manuel, sitting nearby eating his breakfast, heard Gabriel's deliberately suggestive and almost nauseating words but said nothing, simply smiling quietly to himself.
In his view, this entire display was incredibly childish.
"Arabella, come have your pasta," he called out, as if he'd heard nothing at all, turning to her with his usual gentle manner.
Arabella was mortified, the burning flush refusing to fade from her cheeks.
She mumbled a thank you as she sat down at the table, breaking apart her disposable chopsticks.
"Have this bowl—I had the owner make it to your taste," Manuel said, pushing a serving of pasta toward her as she settled in.
"Thank you, Manuel."
"Don't be so formal. Just eat up."
Before he'd finished speaking, Gabriel emerged from washing up.
Seeing his wife chatting and laughing with another man made his chest tighten with irritation, his expression darkening immediately.
Manuel had bought coffee, sandwiches, and three servings of spicy meatball marinara, trying to accommodate everyone's preferences.
Gabriel sat down and examined each item, his expression growing even more sour.
Arabella sat beside him, glancing up to catch his look of disdain. "If you can't stomach it, you can go buy your own food," she said coolly.
Gabriel knew she was hoping he'd leave—which made him even more determined to stay.
"If you two can eat it, why can't I?"
With that declaration, he pulled over a bowl of the spicy pasta, frowning as he picked up a fork and held it awkwardly.
Seeing him about to eat the pasta, Manuel instinctively wanted to warn him it was quite spicy, but the words died on his lips. After all, he was a grown man—surely he could handle a little heat.
Gabriel watched the other two eating with gusto. The pasta did smell delicious, so he took a large forkful without any hesitation.
The next second, his expression froze, his brow furrowing tightly.
Spicy!
Too spicy!
Ever since his frequent stomach problems, his doctor had repeatedly warned him to stick to bland foods. He hadn't eaten anything this spicy in years.
Manuel, sitting across from him, didn't miss his reaction and looked genuinely surprised. "Mr. Sterling can't handle spicy food?"
His tone carried surprise tinged with what seemed like mockery.
He actually couldn't eat spicy food?
Gabriel was silently cursing his situation while feeling deeply frustrated.
Any man would need to save face at a moment like this. Without much hesitation, he continued chewing, forcing himself to swallow despite the discomfort, then said with feigned nonchalance: "Who says I can't handle spicy food? This fork is just too crude—uncomfortable to use."