Page 139 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
But I held my ground. And eventually, cautiously, she began to accept it.
The turning point came when Gabriel invited her to the estate for dinner. I was nervous—terrified, really—about how that evening would go. Two people who had every reason to distrust each other, sitting across a table, trying to find common ground.
But Gabriel surprised me. He was gentle with her. Patient. He answered her questions honestly, even the hardones. He didn't try to charm her or manipulate her—he just let her see him, the real him, and trusted that it would be enough.
It wasn't enough, not at first. But it was a start.
Now she visits every few weeks. She's in therapy, finally processing twenty-five years of fear and trauma. She's even started dating—a quiet man named Robert who works at the library near her apartment. She's building a life, a real life, for the first time since she ran.
Dwayne Thomas is finally, truly dead. Not just his body, but his shadow. The hold he had on both of us, severed at last.
"Also," Gabriel adds, his tone shifting slightly, "Josiah and Benedict have confirmed they're coming this weekend."
I turn in his arms to look at him. "Both of them? Together?"
"Apparently, my impending fatherhood has inspired an unprecedented display of family unity."
His brothers. I've met them twice now—once when Gabriel formally introduced me as his partner, and once at a Brotherhood gathering I still don't fully understand. Josiah, the eldest, is carved from the same cold marble as Gabriel but with an edge of sardonic humor that makes him slightly more approachable. Benedict, the youngest, is warmer, quicker to smile, though I've seen flashes of the same darkness that lives in Gabriel lurking behind his easy charm.
They terrified me at first. Three Ambrose brothers in one room is enough predatory energy to make anyone's survival instincts scream.
But they've surprised me too.
Josiah sent a case of high-end prenatal vitamins when he learned about the pregnancy, along with a note that read:Forthe mother of the first Ambrose heir in a generation. Try not to let Gabriel smother you.It was the closest thing to warmth I'd seen from him.
Benedict has been more openly enthusiastic. He calls every few weeks to check on me—not Gabriel,me—asking about cravings and symptoms and whether I've chosen a name yet. Last month, he sent a stuffed rabbit that probably cost more than my first car, with a tag that saidFor my niece, from her favorite uncle.
"Josiah wants to discuss the trust fund," Gabriel continues. "He's been working with the lawyers to ensure our daughter is protected, financially and legally, from the moment she's born."
"And Benedict?"
"Benedict wants to teach her to ride horses." Gabriel's mouth quirks. "He's already selected a pony. I told him she needs to learn to walk first."
"He's excited."
"They both are, in their own ways." He pauses, something complicated moving behind his eyes. "I didn't expect that. I didn't expect them to care."
"She's their niece. Their family."
"The Ambroses have never been particularly sentimental about family."
"Maybe that's changing." I reach up, cupping his face in my hand. "You changed. Maybe they can, too."
He doesn't respond, but I see the flicker of hope he's trying to suppress. Gabriel has always held himself apart from his brothers—the oldest child, the dangerous one, the weapontheir father honed for violence. He's never believed they saw him as anything more than a useful tool.
But I've watched them together, these past months. I've seen the way Josiah's eyes follow Gabriel with something that looks almost like concern. I've seen the way Benedict gravitates toward him at family gatherings, seeking his approval even while pretending not to. They're not close—not yet, maybe not ever—but there's something there. The foundation of something that could grow, if they let it.
"Come," Gabriel says, shaking off the moment. "I have something to show you."
"Another surprise? You've given me enough surprises to last a lifetime."
"This one is different."
He leads me down the hall, past our bedroom—ourbedroom now, the one I've shared with him for six months—and toward the east wing of the estate. I know where we're going before we get there.
The studio.
He had it built for me in the first month after I moved in. A massive space with north-facing windows, perfect natural light, and enough room for all my equipment and more. I've spent countless hours here, losing myself in my work, finding peace in the click of the shutter and the slow reveal of images in the developing trays.
