Chapter 9

The clock in the main hall struck eleven times, its heavy chiming ringing out through the quiet mansion.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, brushing my hair, when a soft knock came at my bedroom door.

Luke stood in the hallway, looking as tall and serious as ever.

"Mrs. Vance," he said, his tone dry and professional. "Mr. Vance wants to see you in his private room immediately."

My stomach fluttered nervously. "In his room?"

"Yes."

What? Gabriel wants to see me in his room? I had never been to his room before, and now he was asking me to come there this late at night. What could he possibly want?

Is it what I'm thinking?

I pulled my nightgown tighter around myself.

Does he want to do what he couldn't do on our wedding night?

Different thoughts crossed my mind, each one making me more nervous.

No. It can't be.

I immediately shook the thought out of my head.

I set my hairbrush down and pulled a thick silk robe over my thin nightgown, tying the sash tightly around my waist.

I followed Luke down the long carpeted corridor toward the West Wing, where I had never been allowed to go before.

He stopped in front of a black door, gave it two firm taps, and stepped back to let me enter.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was vast and dim, lit only by the low, orange glow of a crackling fireplace and a few soft lamps.

The air was surprisingly warm, thick with the scent of cedarwood, rich leather, and hot steam coming from the open bathroom door nearby. The room was quiet, dark, and heavy with a tension that made my skin prickle.

Gabriel sat in his electric wheelchair near the far side of the room, positioned beside a massive dark wood desk.

He wasn't wearing his usual sharp suit jacket. He wore only a loose black shirt with the top three buttons undone, exposing the sharp collarbones and broad chest beneath, along with black trousers. His dark hair was still slightly damp, clinging to his forehead.

When his eyes locked onto me, the sheer weight of his gaze felt like a physical touch. My breath caught in my throat.

"Close the door, Clara," he commanded softly, his gravelly voice sounding lower and rougher than usual in the quiet space.

I turned around and clicked the door shut, staying close to the wood. "Is something wrong, Gabriel?"

His eyes traveled slowly down my frame, taking in the oversized robe wrapped tightly around me, before sliding back up to my face.

"Don't worry," Gabriel said, a faint, cold smirk touching the corner of his lips. "I didn't call you here to touch you. I have no interest in taking advantage of a scared girl in a robe."

A sudden, strange flush of heat rose to my cheeks. I pulled the robe a little tighter around my shoulders, feeling both relieved and oddly exposed by the way he looked at me.

"Then why am I here?" I asked, taking a few small steps toward his desk.

Gabriel tapped a thick piece of white paper lying on the wooden desk surface next to a gold fountain pen.

"Business," he said simply. "Today proved that your family won't stop coming after this estate. Evelyn failed, but Richard Montgomery is a desperate rat. He will try to reach you. He will send letters, he will try to bribe the guards, or he will promise you whatever lies he thinks will work to get you on his side again."

I shook my head quickly. "I don't want to talk to him. I don't care about anything he has to say."

"Words are cheap, Clara," Gabriel rasped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gestured toward the paper. "I don't trust promises. I trust contracts."

I stepped up to the edge of the desk and looked down at the document. Across the top, in bold black letters, it read: *Loyalty Agreement.*

My eyes scanned the lines of text. It was simple, direct, and merciless. By signing it, I agreed never to make contact with Richard, Eleanor, or Evelyn Montgomery again. I couldn't write to them, speak to them, or pass them any information about Gabriel or his business.

If I broke the rule even once, I would immediately forfeit my status as his wife, lose every bit of protection, and be cast out of the estate with nothing.

"You are signing away your bloodline," Gabriel said quietly, watching every flicker of emotion on my face. "If you sign this, you have no family left. If you ever betray me to them, I will ruin you just like I am ruining your father."

I looked from the paper up to Gabriel. He thought this would be hard for me. He thought I would hesitate to cut off the people who shared my blood.

But he didn't understand that they had cut me off the day I was born. They were never my family; they were just my jailers.

"Where do I sign?" I asked, my voice steady.

A sudden spark of surprise flashed deep within his dark eyes. He picked up the gold fountain pen and handed it to me.

I took the pen, its metal casing warm from his grip. Instead of sitting down in the leather chair beside the desk, I leaned over the edge of the dark wood, pressing the tip of the pen against the paper.

Because I leaned down, my silk robe slipped slightly to the side. The loose fabric fell away from my neck, exposing the smooth skin of my collarbone and the faint shadow of my chest in the warm firelight.

I didn't notice it at first. I focused on writing my name—*Clara Vance*—in neat, dark ink at the bottom of the page.

As I dragged the pen across the final line, I felt the sudden, intense heat of his presence.

Gabriel had moved closer. His wheelchair rolled forward just an inch, bringing him right beside where I leaned over the desk. He wasn't looking at the contract.

His gaze was locked directly onto my exposed neck.

The room went dead quiet, save for the crackle of the wood in the fireplace. The air between us seemed to snap with a sudden, wild electricity that made my pulse race wildly in my throat.

I could feel the heat radiating off his broad body, the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing, and the sheer intensity of his focus. He said he had no interest in my body, but the way his eyes burned into my skin felt like fire.

I froze, my hand holding the pen trembling just a bit over the paper. I didn't pull the robe back up. I didn't step away. I just stood there, caught in his spell, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Gabriel’s fingers twitched on the armrest of his chair, as if he wanted to reach out and trace the curve of my throat. His dark jaw tightened, a vein pulsing slightly at his temple as he fought against himself.

Slowly, agonizingly, Gabriel forced his eyes to raise until they met mine.

His voice, when it finally came, was low and rough, scraped raw by restraint.

“If you keep standing there like that… if you keep looking at me like that… I’m going to forget every reason I gave myself not to touch you tonight. I may be paralyzed from the leg, but that doesn’t change a damn thing that matters. I’m still a man. Don’t forget that.”