Chapter 2 - The Price of Protection
The inner sanctuary of Gabriel Vance’s office was a room few people ever entered and even fewer left unchanged. The walls were lined with dark walnut wood, and behind his massive glass desk hung a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the sprawling gardens and the iron gates beyond.
I stood nervously in the center of the Persian rug, clutching the frayed edges of my sleeve. Gabriel walked over to a small bar cart, poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass, and turned to face me. He didn't offer me the glass; instead, he took a slow sip, his dark eyes tracking every small movement I made.
"Sit," he instructed, gesturing to the heavy leather armchair across from his desk.
I sat down carefully, keeping my back straight, terrified that any sign of weakness would lead to my termination.
"Tell me about him," Gabriel said, leaning against the edge of his desk and crossing his ankles.
"I can't—"
"Emma," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You have two choices right now. You can tell me his name and why he marked you like that, or I can have my men run your background check through every database from here to Chicago. It will take them twenty minutes. I'm saving you the waiting time."
I swallowed hard, realization dawning on me. To a man like Gabriel, privacy was an illusion he granted out of courtesy, not necessity.
"His name is Marcus Vance," I said softly.
Gabriel’s brow twitched slightly. "No relation."
"No," I replied quickly. "Marcus Miller. He... he was my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. We lived together in the industrial district after my father passed away." I looked down at my hands, forcing myself to relive the memory. "He started gambling about a year ago. He lost everything—his job, his savings, then mine. When he couldn't pay his debts, he took it out on me. He said I was his bad luck charm."
Gabriel’s face remained an unreadable mask, but I saw his hand tighten around his crystal glass until his knuckles turned stark white. "When did you leave?"
"Three months ago. I packed a bag while he was at an illegal casino downtown. I caught a bus, came to the city, and applied for the first live-in job I could find. I thought... I thought a house like this, with security gates and guards, would keep him away."
"Has he tried to contact you?" Gabriel asked, his voice chillingly precise.
I hesitated, my heart skipping a beat.
"Emma," Gabriel warned gently. "The truth."
"He... he saw me three weeks ago," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper. "I went to a local pharmacy near the city center to buy pain relievers. He was waiting near the bus stop. He dragged me into an alleyway. He told me he knew I was working somewhere wealthy. He demanded I steal money or jewelry for him to pay off his bookies. He said if I didn't give him fifty thousand dollars by the end of this month, he would come to the house, expose my past, and tell the owners I was planning to rob them."
A heavy silence descended upon the office. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked rhythmically, counting down the seconds of a quiet storm brewing in the room.
Gabriel slowly set his glass down on the mahogany desk with a soft clink. He walked around the desk, standing directly above me. The sheer physical presence of the man was overwhelming—he exuded absolute control, a dark power that commanded obedience without ever having to raise his voice.
"He threatened you," Gabriel stated. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"And you believed he could ruin you?"
"He has photos," I admitted, shame burning my cheeks. "He took photos of me while I was unconscious after he... after he beat me last winter. He threatened to post them online, to send them to my employer, to brand me as a prostitute or a thief. I had nowhere else to go, Mr. Vance. If I lose this job, I am homeless."
Gabriel knelt down until his eyes were level with mine. The harshness in his features softened just a fraction, revealing a fierce, protective instinct beneath his cold exterior.
"You are not going to be homeless," Gabriel said, his voice smooth and binding, like an unwritten contract. "And Marcus Miller is never going to lay a finger on you again."
"You don't understand," I argued, fear spiking again. "He's desperate. He's working with loan sharks connected to the southern docks. They don't care about rules."
Gabriel let out a short, dark laugh—a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "The southern docks belong to my family, Emma. Those loan sharks pay us tax for the right to operate in our city. If Marcus Miller is owing them money, he is owing me money."
I stared at him, my lips parted in shock. I had forgotten who I was talking to. To Marcus, those street thugs were terrifying monsters. To Gabriel Vance, they were merely rounding errors on a ledger.
"From this moment on," Gabriel continued, his gaze holding mine captive, "you no longer take orders from Mrs. Chen. You no longer scrub floors or wash dishes at three in the morning."
"What? But... what will I do?"
"You will be my personal assistant," Gabriel announced calmly. "You will manage my schedule, handle my personal correspondence, and stay in the West Wing where I can keep an eye on you."
"Mrs. Chen will be furious," I protested. "The other staff will gossip!"
"Let them," Gabriel said dismissively, standing up to his full height. "Mrs. Chen works for me. If she has an issue with my decision, she can pack her bags today. As for the gossip, let them talk. They will soon learn that touching my staff comes with an intolerable cost."
He walked over to his desk, picked up a pen, and wrote something on a sleek black card before handing it to me.
"Take this to the third floor of the West Wing. Room 304. It has been unlocked for you. Move your things from the attic immediately."
I took the card, my fingers trembling as they brushed against his. "Why are you doing this for me, Mr. Vance? You don't even know me."
May you like
Gabriel looked at me, his dark eyes burning with an intense, intoxicating fire that made my heart race.
"Because, Emma," he whispered, leaning down so close his breath warmed my ear, "I despise men who break fragile things. And you... you aren't fragile at all. You're a survivor. And I intend to keep you that way."
