THE MAID WAS HIDING BRUISES IN A MOB BOSS’S BATHROOM—THEN HE WALKED IN

Four days passed inside the Ashford estate.

For Harper, those four days felt like living in another dimension.

Her bruised ribs were treated by Gabriel’s private physician—a quiet, gentle man who gave her proper pain medication, wrapped her chest securely, and prescribed vitamins for her exhaustion. Noah was given a spacious room next to hers in the east wing, filled with books, video games, and a massive bed with feather pillows.

Every morning, Gabriel had breakfast with them in the sunlit dining room.

It was surreal. The man who commanded hundreds of dangerous men, who controlled millions of dollars in illegal trade, sat quietly at the head of the oak table, reading the Boston Globe while sipping dark coffee. He never raised his voice. He never made demands. He listened patiently as Noah babbled about his favorite cartoons, offering short, thoughtful answers that made the little boy beam with pride.

Harper sat across from Gabriel, watching him, her heart doing strange, fluttering flips every time his dark eyes met hers over his coffee cup.

"You're staring, Harper," Gabriel said softly one morning, setting his paper down.

Harper flushed bright red, quickly looking down at her toast. "I’m sorry. I just... I’m not used to this."

"To what?"

"To peace," she whispered. "To waking up in the morning and not feeling terror in my stomach before I open my eyes."

Gabriel watched her quietly. The dark circles under her eyes had faded, replaced by a healthy, soft glow. Her hair was clean, shining in the morning sun, falling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She was wearing a simple soft gray sweater and jeans that Mrs. Morrison had purchased for her—far removed from the worn-out, stained maid's uniform she had arrived in.

"You don't ever have to feel that terror again," Gabriel said softly.

He stood up, walking around the long table until he stopped behind her chair. He rested his hand lightly on the wood back of her seat, his presence warm and enveloping.

"I have meetings at the Seaport office today," Gabriel said. "I want you to come with me."

Harper looked up in surprise. "To your business office?"

"You're my personal assistant now," Gabriel reminded her with a subtle twitch of his lips. "It’s time you learned how my world works."

Thirty minutes later, Harper stepped into the back seat of Gabriel’s armored Mercedes sedan. Noah was staying at the estate under the watchful eye of Mrs. Morrison and four heavily armed guards.

As the car glided through the bustling streets of Boston toward the industrial docks of Seaport, Harper looked out the window at the passing city.

"Mr. Ashford?"

"Gabriel," he corrected smoothly from beside her. "When we're private, call me Gabriel."

Harper’s chest tightened at the sound of his name on her lips. "Gabriel... aren't you afraid that taking me out in public makes me a target for Derek?"

Gabriel turned his head, looking at her with a quiet, lethal confidence. "Derek Lawson is a bug, Harper. He operates in the dirt because he thinks the dirt belongs to him. But I own the land the dirt rests on. If he shows his face near you today, he dies."

The sheer matter-of-fact certainty in his voice should have terrified her. But it didn't. For three years, Derek had used fear as a cage to trap her. Gabriel used force as a shield to protect her.

The Mercedes pulled into the private underground parking garage of the Ashford Logistics Headquarters—a massive glass-and-steel building overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

They took a private elevator straight to the top floor.

As the doors slid open, a sprawling executive office revealed itself, featuring panoramic views of the harbor. Standing near the desk were six men in dark suits, including Mateo.

The men instantly stood up straight, bowing their heads respectfully as Gabriel walked into the room.

"Boss," Mateo acknowledged, his eyes flicking briefly to Harper before returning to Gabriel. "We have a problem at Warehouse 4 on the docks."

Gabriel walked behind his heavy mahogany desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "Speak."

"A team of Roxbury cops, led by Detective Lawson, just pulled up to Warehouse 4," Mateo reported, his voice low and tense. "They brought three marked cruisers and a squad of men with search warrants. They claim they have an anonymous tip that we're storing stolen firearms inside."

Harper felt all the blood drain from her face. "Derek..."

Gabriel’s expression didn't change at all. He didn't panic. He didn't shout. He simply leaned against his desk, reaching into his top drawer, and pulled out a sleek black leather holster containing his customized SIG Sauer 9mm pistol.

He strapped it over his shoulder, pulled his dark coat back on, and looked at Harper.

"Stay here with Mateo," Gabriel said quietly.

"No!" Harper cried out, stepping forward. "Gabriel, please! It’s a trap! Derek knows you own that warehouse! He wants to provoke you into shooting a cop so he can arrest you or kill you on the spot!"

Gabriel walked over to her, stopping inches away. He reached out, his hand gently grasping the back of her neck, pulling her close until their foreheads almost touched.

"Harper," he whispered, his warm breath fanning across her lips. "In three years, that man made you believe you were small. He made you believe he was a god who held your life in his hands."