The harsh wind blew past them, causing Angela to clench her thighs together—though she wore a long-sleeved dress for her date, it was a mini, so her legs were exposed. December in Esmea had always been cold, and she didn't like it. Restaurants and cars had temperature control, so she didn't have to worry about it. But now that she was out here on the street, she wished she had worn pants instead—that date was garbage anyway.

She kept her stare locked at Gael's eyes, waiting for him to respond to what she just said. However, the look on his face only told her that he was baffled. Of course, he would be. He probably didn't think she would ever find out, did he? Perhaps he felt so smart getting his revenge for that book she wrote.

And maybe… Maybe he really was smart. Angela felt her heart twist at a certain memory that flashed in her mind.

And maybe she deserved it.

But even if she did deserve the heartache for what she did, she believed that she had the right to feel so bitter about it all.

Yes. Just like the cold, bitter wind in December.

It took a few beats before Gael came to his senses. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed her hand and brought her towards the black Mercedes across the street.

With his hand holding hers, she thought that she would be repulsed by it—she hated that she wasn't. What's more, she was surprised at herself that she didn't stop him from whatever he was about to do, giving him permission to bring her with him—wherever he planned to take her.

"Get in," he told her as he opened the door to the passenger's seat. His voice was demanding, yet it wasn't infuriating.

She kept her eyes stern as their gazes briefly met. For a second, she contemplated whether a refusal would be appropriate, but then she decided to just go with the flow. Because if she did, he wouldn't stop until she would give him another chance to talk.

It was probably not the best idea to go with him after she promised herself not to associate with him anymore. The farther she was from men like him, the better for her. The farther she was, the less heartache she would have to experience.

But for twenty-eight years, she had made bad decisions. She knew they would have to talk about it, and avoiding him would just drag the problem. So whether going with him was bad or good for her, this would be the last. After tonight, she could completely remove him out of her life.

Angela wordlessly got in the car and settled in the passenger's seat. Gael was a bit surprised at her lack of resistance, but he was thankful that he didn't have to force her. After a week of following her around, she was finally going to talk to him like they should have been from the start.

However, what she said earlier worried him. It seemed as though she was mad at something else.

After closing her door, he quickly circled the vehicle and told his driver to get off the car.

His driver, although confused, could only follow his order and alighted the vehicle.

As soon as Gael got inside, he slammed his foot on the gas and sped off.

They joined the traffic in Mayne City's main road. He did a double-take to check whether she had her seatbelt on and then kept his speed stable but fast. He was in a hurry—they were about to have the most dreaded conversation, but he knew that they needed to get this over and done with.

Gael didn't actually know where to go as he rarely drove in Mayne. Because of mafia restrictions which stated that Esmea was off-limits and they couldn't settle in this state, he just avoided coming here often to avoid trouble.

So he aimlessly drove south, or west—he really didn't give a damn. But later, he found a quiet location by the seaside about twenty meters away. Through the rearview mirror, he noticed that Angela's car was following them—and he was sure that it was his driver on that car's passenger's seat. He floored the gas pedal, and the vehicle accelerated. However, Angela didn't show any signs that she was afraid as she kept quiet in her seat.

She was hugging herself, and he thought that she must be cold, so he turned up the heat.

Reaching the shore, he pulled over on the sandy path and turned off the engine. The car that was following them behind had stopped several meters away too.

His heart was still beating furiously in his chest like a drum roll from a marching band, yet he remained calm despite the concern written all over his face. She had been silent the entire car ride, making him wonder what was going on in her head the whole time.

The air was quiet, apart from the soft waves caressing the shore—the sound reminded him of their time back in Hillberry Isle where it all started—and where it all ended the moment they left. That memory seemed like it was just yesterday, but it had already been months.

Gael gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, and he took a deep breath as he turned to look at her. Angela was staring out the window at nothing in particular, and he was tempted not to make a sound, just so he could stay in this peaceful time where she didn't appear to be mad at him. But her silence only scared him more.

"Tell me what you know," he finally asked, hoping that they could stop the charade. He waited for what seemed like forever when it actually only had been just half a minute since he spoke.

Then he called her, "Angel…" Reaching out towards her, he gently cupped her chin to make her look at him. He tried to read her face, but she held herself so well that it was impossible to see right through her at the moment. It frustrated him that he couldn't read her mind.

When their eyes met, she spoke in the flattest tone he had ever heard from her, "The truth about you and your family."

"Say it. I want to hear it from you," he said without taking his stare off her, holding it like he owned her gaze. And when she responded, he regretted that he wasn't prepared to hear what she had to say.

As he lowered his hand, Angela raised her chin, looking so beautifully confident as she began, "That you are indeed royalty—a prince from one of the notorious mafia families in this country. The eldest son of Alessandro De Luca. The only favored grandson of the late Don Severino De Luca. Both of them were respected in the Italian-American family syndicates that even your rivals would cower in fear when they see them—and you, of course, Gael De Luca, they say you're the most ruthless. Did I miss anything?"

The casual look on her face when she detailed what she knew and probably already believed made it harder for him to speak. The others were just hearsays, but she got most of them correct—and that bothered him. "How?"

"What do you mean 'how'?"

"Who told you about my family?" he probed. And when she drew her brows together, he realized what a dumb question that was.

So he rephrased, "I know I told you stuff without thinking through years ago. But I didn't tell you much about my family, particularly my grandfather's name. So how did you know?"

Angela looked away and stared at the dashboard. She didn't think that wherever she got the information from was important. "It doesn't matter how—"

"It does to me."

Running a tired hand down his face, Gael stared at the sea in front of them. This area of the seaside was quiet and empty because it was already almost winter, and no one liked the cold.

She didn't respond to his question. So he continued, "It matters to me because that would mean there's a snitch in the family. And we don't tolerate that."

His head snapped towards Angela when he heard her snort like he just said something funny.

"Really?" she asked while still looking away from him.

She inhaled and let out her breath slowly as if she was trying to calm herself down. When Angela turned her head to face him, her expression was smug as she questioned, "I wonder what your family would do to you if they found out you snitched on them three years ago?"

Gael's grey eyes were so sharp when he glared, but Angela's wry smile masked the cut that his gaze caused as it pierced right through her.