"Oh, cold!" Angela raised a finger when she saw that Gael was about to use a pot over the burner to warm the milk.

He looked at her, cocking a brow in question.

"I like my milk cold," she clarified from the other side of the kitchen island where she sat.

"Got it." He nodded, putting away the pot and then pouring the milk from the fridge into a glass. He slid it towards her, then opened himself a bottle of sparkling water, taking a swig while staying on the opposite side of the counter from her.

She took a sip of her cold milk and then nursed it with both of her hands. "I noticed you aren't smoking anymore… That's nice," she suddenly said.

"Have you been keeping an eye on me?" Gael smirked, setting the bottle on the counter behind him. He was leaning on the sink, crossing his arms and looking amused at her.

Angela squinted at him. "We've basically been around each other for the last twenty-four hours. It's not hard to notice you haven't held a cigarette."

"I could have smoked while you weren't looking?" He shrugged.

"You don't smell like you did."

A cocky grin plastered on his face. "So you've been smelling me?"

The crease between her brows deepened, and a sexy chuckle escaped him. It was so much fun to tease Angela. "I stopped actually. More than three months now."

"Oh…" She went silent, her eyes darting here and there as if she was trying to recall something.

"August 29—if you're wondering. That was the last time I smoked a stick."

"But that's…" Her eyes locked with his, confusion apparent on her face. "We were on the island..."

Gael nodded. "Since then."

He could still remember that night. They were out on the balcony of her suite room where she told him she hated the smell of cigarettes while she laid on his chest. He knew she was thinking of the same memory—what with the way she was looking at him now.

There were times that he was tempted to smoke when he reached New York, but her words kept playing in his head. He ended up pocketing his lighter and pack every time. Then the shooting incident happened. He got shot and nearly died—all the more reason for him to stop smoking.

Wanting to move on from the subject, he inched towards the kitchen island, still standing opposite her but closer. "Are you still not going to tell me about your ex? You did promise me you'd tell me the next time we see each other."

She bit her bottom lip.

'Sweetie. If you don't stop biting your lip, I'll have to do it for you,' he said in his thoughts.

"Can we move to the living room?" Angela suggested.

"Sure." Gael led the way towards the living room where he set up the fire to keep her warm. He quickly ran upstairs, and when he came back, he brought a fleece blanket with him. Then he gave it to her as she sat on one end of the couch while he stayed on the other. "You good?"

"Thank you," she answered.

It was quiet for a couple of minutes. She looked like she struggled with what to tell him while fidgeting with the fleece and watching the fireplace. "I don't know where to start."

"From the beginning." Despite doing a background check on her ex, hearing everything from her perspective was different.

Angela took a deep breath, brought her knees up, and leaned against the backrest. "I was ten when I first met Evan. Our fathers were friends, and our families spent most of the summer that year. They were originally from here, but they moved out of state after that, so we didn't see each other again until I was nineteen when they moved back to the state—but in the next city.

"Evan's seven months older than me. Seeing him again after all those years brought back the fun we had that one summer. He was a nice guy—charming." She softly chuckled at the distant memory of how their relationship began. We hooked up whenever he visited Mayne. Never really serious because he wasn't always around."

Then she started telling Gael about how her relationship with Evan changed from a casual fling to being exclusive, though a long-distance one. Listening to her talk about her past relationship with that man wasn't something he enjoyed listening to. And he almost lost his cool when she told him about how he hurt her. He had his fists tightly clenched on the side.

He drew his brows together, seeing as she didn't cry a single tear despite the apparent look on her face that said she really wanted to.

Angela turned to face him. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Gael had been quiet the entire time. Even when his eyes darkened at the thought of her getting choked, he didn't say anything. Truth be told, he was outraged—just like the first time he learned about her past a month ago.

If that man appeared in front of him at this very moment, he'd most probably beat the crap out of him. Who did he think he was hurting Angela like that? What kind of monster does that? A crackhead obviously.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, looking away.

"Don't be. You weren't the one who did it." She smiled. "But I appreciate it…"

He raised a brow and had a questioning gaze.

"You may think you're really good at hiding your anger, but this couch is gonna split if you don't let go of it." She nodded at his hands that were gripping the edge of the leather couch, his knuckles turning white from all the pent up emotions. "Thanks for getting angry for me."

His hands relaxed, letting go of the couch. He sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. "I wanna kill that bastard, Angela. How dare he lay his hands on you?" He glared at the fire.

Turning to face her, Gael found her looking intently at him. The look on her eyes told him she was searching for something—whatever it was, he couldn't tell. He fought the urge to reach out and pull her to him, wanting to tell her that she was going to be okay.

Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but she decided against it and averted her gaze. He wished she would have said it. He had an inkling that she was going to tell him about the other thing. Gael thought he should bring it up, but he wanted her to initiate the topic as it was a sensitive one. But unless she opened up first, he wouldn't talk about it.

The crackling of wood filled the silence. She wrapped her arms around her legs, and after a moment, she spoke again, "I never told anyone this…but I blame myself for what happened to me."

"Why would you? It's not your fault." He couldn't understand why she would think so.

"I should have known. I should have been aware of what he was doing. If I had…then I could have left, and that wouldn't have happened to me."

Gael shook his head and moved closer to her. Sliding a finger under her chin, he tilted her face towards him and looked at her straight in the eyes. "That's bullshit."

She was speechless, stunned at the harshness of his words.

"No one should blame the victim—even you, Angel. You can't do that to yourself. Whoever blames victims for any incident that happened to them is an unsympathetic idiot. The only one at fault here is that jackass. You understand me?"

Angela swallowed and nodded slowly.

He let out a small sigh and lowered his hand from her face. "As long as I'm here. I won't let him go near you. He won't be able to touch you again, Angel. You have my word."