Chapter 285: Forgotten (Part 2)
After bathing her, he gathered her gently into his arms, wrapped her in a towel, and stepped out into the quiet room beyond.
He dried her slowly, his hands moving with care, then settled onto the bed with her resting against his chest. Her breathing was soft, steady—peaceful.
He brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek, wishing absurdly that the moment would never end.
His gaze lingered on her—the curve of her lashes, the softness of her mouth. Desire and guilt collided until he bent, unable to resist, and pressed a kiss against her lips—feather-light, almost a prayer.
He tore his eyes away, staring into the darkness beyond the window. The clock struck three, the sound pulling him back to reason. She couldn’t stay here.
He slipped her into one of his shirts—far too large, soft against her skin—then wrapped her in a blanket.
He drew a small vial from his pocket and injected a clear serum into her arm, his movements quick but gentle.
It was precaution, nothing more. He was still in Bruce territory, and Pierre’s men could be anywhere below.
Lifting her once more, he crossed to the door. Every sound—the creak of floorboards, the whisper of wind—made his pulse spike.
Somewhere below, footsteps scraped softly across the stairs.
In one smooth motion, he pushed open the window and eased Alison onto the flat of the attic roof.
He turned back inside, grabbed a second syringe, and plunged it into his own arm. The needle slid easily into skin already marked by too many others. He didn’t flinch.
The door crashed open. “Gabriel! You brought a woman up here? Where is she?”
Gabriel lifted his head slowly, eyes half-lidded, face wearing a strange, placid calm.
“Hey! I’m talking to you!” A burly man with a long scar across his cheek stormed in and kicked him hard in the ribs.
Gabriel’s lips curved in an eerie smile.
The man faltered, unease flickering in his eyes. “So? Did you bring her up here or not?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said simply.
He stayed where he was, back against the wardrobe, the syringe discarded at his side.
The scarred man straightened. “Where is she now?”
“She’s gone,” Gabriel replied, voice light, detached. “Just a street girl. Want me to fetch her for you, Owen? Or will that bother you now that she’s been with me?”
“You—” Owen growled, rage breaking through. “You bastard! If I find out you’re lying, you’re dead.”
He jabbed a finger toward him. “And don’t think one clean job makes you untouchable. I can still ruin you.”
Gabriel only smiled, a faint, mocking curve of his lips.
He turned away without a word, heading toward the bathroom as if the conversation no longer existed.
Owen glanced around the room, muttered a curse, and slammed the door behind him.
When the door finally shut, Gabriel exhaled deeply.
A humorless smile crossed his face. “Next time, knock,” he muttered. “Or you’ll regret it.”
Owen paused mid-step, about to snap back when his phone began to ring.
Remembering Matthew’s protection over Gabriel, he bit back his temper and answered Pierre’s call as he descended the stairs.
“What? You want new doctors?”
“Understood, Mr. Bruce. Half an hour.” He hung up and hurried off, Gabriel’s words already forgotten.
Pierre’s condition was worsening—three doctors, no progress. Whispers of his humiliation were spreading fast.
Gabriel stepped outside, onto the narrow rooftop, and watched Owen disappear into the dark.
After confirming the coast was clear, he swung himself out the window, crouched by the eaves, and leapt lightly onto the neighboring roof.
He pulled Alison close again, wrapping his coat around her, shielding her from the night’s bite.
He gripped the drainpipe and slid down, his movements swift and soundless.
The motorcycle roared to life beneath him, and he sped away into the night.
The night began to fade, dawn brushing the horizon in pale gold.
Alison woke to find herself in her own bed. Her temples throbbed faintly, her thoughts slow to catch up.
She sat up, fragments flooding back—the engagement party, Pierre’s face—and then… nothing.
Her memory dissolved into mist. Everything after that was gone.
Only one sensation lingered—the feverish heat that had devoured her.
What had happened to her?
Who had brought her back here?
She had no answers—only questions that made her chest tighten.
Heart pounding, she rang for the nanny. Panic twisted through her voice.
The door swung open. The nanny hurried in, startled.
“Ma’am, what’s the matter?”
“How did I get home last night?” Alison demanded.
“Oh—by a taxi driver, ma’am. He said he found you near the hotel.”
“When?” Alison asked softly, confusion thick in her voice.