CHAPTER 4: The Penthouse

The private elevator opened directly into Dominic's penthouse, and Gabriel stepped into a space that looked more like an architectural magazine spread than a place where anyone actually lived. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around three sides of the massive open-plan living area, offering a panoramic view of Seattle that made the city look like a glittering toy seventy-three floors below.

Everything was minimalist luxury executed with ruthless precision. White marble floors stretched in every direction, broken only by strategically placed rugs that probably cost more than Gabriel's entire year of rent. The furniture was all clean lines and expensive materials, arranged with careful composition that suggested an interior designer rather than personal taste.

The space felt cold despite the warm afternoon light. It was more like a showroom than somewhere a person might actually live. Gabriel supposed that was the point. Dominic Ashford did not do comfort. He did control, power and carefully maintained distance from anything that might suggest vulnerability.

Ethan Cross stood waiting near the kitchen area, his expression professionally neutral. "Your room is this way," he said, gesturing toward a hallway. His tone was perfectly polite, the kind of courtesy extended to unwanted guests who had to be tolerated for business purposes.

Gabriel followed the Beta down the hallway, acutely aware of Dominic's presence somewhere behind them. He could feel his mate through the bond, could sense the tight control Dominic maintained over whatever emotions Gabriel's presence might provoke.

The guest room sat at the end of the hallway, as far from what Gabriel assumed was Dominic's master suite as the layout allowed. A king-sized bed dominated the space, dressed in white linens with military precision. A dresser, a nightstand, a single chair positioned near the window. Everything Gabriel might need and absolutely nothing that suggested personality or warmth.

"Mr. Ashford has established rules for your stay," Ethan said, his voice taking on the quality of someone reciting from a memorized list. "You are not to leave the penthouse without explicit permission and escort. You will have no contact with the Holy Order or any of its members, including your family, except through approved channels that Mr. Ashford will monitor. You will attend all pack functions and therapy sessions as required. You will obey any direct order given by Mr. Ashford without question or hesitation."

Gabriel listened to the recitation of his new constraints, each rule another bar in the cage that would hold him for the next month. "I understand," he said quietly. "I agreed to Dominic's conditions."

Ethan pulled a phone from his pocket and set it on the dresser. "Mr. Ashford has provided you with this. It has limited functionality. You can reach him, me, or emergency services. All other communications are blocked." He held out his hand expectantly. "Your previous phone will be confiscated."

Gabriel handed over his battered phone without protest, watching Ethan pocket it with practiced efficiency.

"Dinner is at eight," Ethan continued. "Mr. Ashford expects you to join him. Dress is casual but presentable. I'll come for you at seven fifty-five." He paused at the door, his expression softening slightly into something that might have been pity. "The therapy sessions start tomorrow afternoon. I'd suggest you rest while you can."

Ethan left, and Gabriel stood alone in his assigned room, surrounded by expensive emptiness. His entire life fit into a single duffel bag. He unpacked slowly, trying to draw out the task. Worn jeans went into dresser drawers that smelled faintly of cedar. Threadbare shirts that had been washed so many times the fabric was soft as tissue paper. Underwear and socks that had been carefully mended rather than replaced.

He had just finished hanging his single jacket in the closet when he felt rather than heard Dominic's approach. The mate bond flared with proximity, sending warmth flooding through Gabriel's chest even as his conscious mind braced for confrontation.

Dominic appeared in the doorway, still wearing the expensive suit from their meeting but with his tie loosened and jacket discarded somewhere. He leaned against the doorframe with deceptive casualness, golden eyes tracking Gabriel's movements.

"This is everything you own," Dominic said. It was not a question, but an observation delivered with flat affect that made it impossible to tell whether he was expressing contempt or something else.

"I travel light," Gabriel replied, keeping his voice neutral. "Makes it easier to move when necessary."

"You've been moving a lot these past five years," Dominic said. "Six different apartments in Seattle alone, according to the background check I ran. Never staying anywhere longer than eight months. Always in the worst neighborhoods, always choosing places where nobody asks questions or remembers faces."

The idea that Dominic had been keeping track of him, had known where Gabriel lived and how often he moved, sent something complicated twisting through Gabriel's chest. He swallowed the questions before they could form, recognizing the futility of asking.

"The first pack function is tomorrow night," Dominic said, changing the subject with abruptness. "A charity gala at the Fairmont. Supernatural elite and their human political allies. Everyone who matters will be there, which means everyone will be watching to see what I'm doing with the exorcist I publicly rejected five years ago."

Gabriel's stomach twisted with anxiety. The idea of being paraded in front of Dominic's world, of being put on display as the rejected mate who had crawled back for favors, made him want to refuse outright.

"I've had a suit tailored for you," Dominic continued, his gaze sweeping over Gabriel's worn clothes with an expression that might have been disdain. "It will be delivered in the morning. Try not to embarrass me tomorrow night. These people already think I made a mistake acknowledging your existence five years ago. I'd prefer not to give them additional ammunition."

The casual cruelty hit Gabriel like a physical blow, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. "I'll do my best to be a credit to your reputation," he said, unable to keep the bitterness entirely out of his voice.

Dominic's eyes narrowed slightly, some emotion Gabriel could not identify flickering across his face before his mask of cold control reasserted itself. "See that you do. Dinner is at eight. Don't be late."

He left without waiting for a response, and Gabriel was alone again.

The afternoon stretched into evening. Gabriel explored the penthouse, discovering it was even larger than it had initially appeared. A state-of-the-art kitchen that looked unused. A home office with bookshelves holding leather-bound volumes on werewolf law. A gym with professional equipment. Everything a person could need, arranged with clinical precision.

He found himself back in his assigned room as the sun began to set. The attached bathroom called to him with the promise of hot water and privacy. Gabriel had been living in places with temperamental plumbing for so long that the idea of a shower with consistent water pressure felt like unimaginable luxury.

He stripped off his travel-worn clothes and stepped into the massive glass-enclosed shower, turning the water as hot as he could stand. Multiple showerheads created a cascade from every angle, and despite everything, Gabriel could not suppress a small sound of pleasure as the heat worked into muscles that had been tense for days.

Several minutes passed before he realized he could feel Dominic through the mate bond with unusual clarity. The connection pulsed with something that felt like tension, like barely controlled restraint. Gabriel froze with his hands in his wet hair, suddenly hyper-aware that werewolf senses were significantly more acute than human ones.

Dominic could hear the water running, could probably hear every sound Gabriel made, every breath and movement. He could definitely smell him, smell the soap and shampoo mingling with Gabriel's natural scent in ways that the mate bond would make impossibly appealing.

The realization should have made Gabriel uncomfortable. Instead, some reckless part of him that had been buried under five years of shame and rejection decided to push back.

If Dominic wanted proximity therapy, wanted to test whether forced exposure would weaken their bond, then Gabriel would give him exactly what he asked for.

He took his time washing his hair, letting his fingers work through the strands with deliberate slowness. He paid careful attention to his body, soaping his skin with more thoroughness than strictly necessary, letting his hands linger in ways that were entirely self-indulgent. When he finally rinsed off, he stood under the spray longer than needed, eyes closed, imagining he could feel Dominic's attention on him like a physical touch.

Through the bond, he felt the moment when Dominic's control slipped. Felt the surge of raw want that the Alpha could not quite suppress, the hunger that five years of rejection had not managed to kill. Gabriel's body responded instinctively, arousal flooding through him at the knowledge that his mate wanted him even if Dominic would rather die than admit it.

Gabriel touched himself with the water cascading over his skin, his other hand braced against the tile. He did not try to be quiet. He let himself make the small sounds that came naturally, let himself imagine golden eyes watching him, let himself pretend that the mate bond was wanted rather than resented.

He came with Dominic's name caught between his teeth, the orgasm intense enough to make his knees weak. The mate bond flared between them like lightning, and through it Gabriel felt Dominic's response, felt the way his mate's carefully maintained control shattered for just an instant before slamming back into place with almost physical force.

Gabriel finished his shower in silence, his body still trembling with aftershocks. When he finally emerged from the bathroom wrapped in one of the expensive towels, he found a note that had been slipped under his door.

Dominic's handwriting was precise and controlled, each letter formed with careful discipline.

*Dinner is cancelled. Eat whatever you want from the kitchen. I have business to attend to and will not return until late. Stay in your room.*

Gabriel read the note three times, trying to parse the subtext. Dominic had fled. He had removed himself from the penthouse entirely rather than sit across from Gabriel at a dinner table while the memory of what had just happened hung between them.

The mate bond pulsed with satisfaction that Gabriel knew was entirely his own. He had gotten under Dominic's skin, had cracked that perfect control, and had proven that proximity was going to be significantly more complicated than his mate had anticipated.

Thirty days of this stretched before him like a battlefield. Gabriel found himself smiling despite everything, despite the impossible situation, and the therapy designed to destroy their bond and the father dying while Gabriel played games with the man who had rejected him.

If Dominic wanted to test the limits of their connection, wanted to see whether forced proximity would weaken the mate bond, then Gabriel would make absolutely certain the next thirty days were unforgettable.

The only question was whether either of them would survive it intact.