Manhattan, New York

Gael held Angela close. Half of her body lay on top of him while his arms wrapped around her back. After her scare a few hours ago, he cleaned up the broken mug, got her a bottle of water, and carried her back to the bedroom. She winced but didn't protest when he disinfected the cut on her feet and covered it with a band-aid before she climbed on the bed, and he pulled her to him.

She hadn't spoken since they left the kitchen and he didn't ask her anything either despite the curiosity that's boiling within him. He wanted to ask her so badly, but it wasn't worth it to upset her again. When she's ready, she will tell him.

There were a few more crackles in the sky while they lay in bed, and she flinched every time it happened. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she buried her face into the crook of his neck. Gael tightened his arms around Angela, rubbing her body and whispering soothing words to her ear until she fell asleep. He fell asleep too, soon after the thundersnow had stopped thirty minutes later. Surprisingly, although it was a rare phenomenon, it didn't last that long. He was afraid the weather would get worse, and fortunately, it didn't.

At half past eight in the morning, Gael fluttered his eyes open. The sky was quiet, but the sun wasn't visible. His arm was sore from the position he was hugging Angela since hours ago, but he didn't want to move, not wanting to disturb her sleep. Ever so gently, he swept her hair behind her ear and kissed the top of her head. She looked peaceful when she slept.

He didn't know when it started, but he always liked watching her sleep like this while her curves molded with his body. His dick would agree, considering it was rock hard, saluting him in the morning, from the way her body was so closely snuggled into him—not to mention her thigh was pressed up against his erection. As much as he was tempted to wake her up like he did the previous mornings—aka with his face between her legs or him inside her—he didn't want to interrupt her peace. So he calmly watched, finding the rise and fall of her torso and her slightly parted lips relaxing.

Gael then knew he was fucked.

Not that it was the first time he noticed this, but it was more apparent this morning.

The feelings he had for Angela were nothing he had ever experienced before, and it scared the shit out of him. It's not because he was afraid that he couldn't be responsible for his feelings, but rather, he was worried that it would be too much for her—which in turn would scare the shit out of her.

She had been burned badly before, much worse than he had, and she rose up strong, only showing him a tiny fraction of her weakness—and he suspected she didn't ever want him to see it—which was why she always tried so hard not to cry in front of him.

But what if one day she realized she couldn't handle him? What if one day, she decided she'd had enough of his world, and she'd leave? Or what if one day she would admit that what she felt for him was just a fleeting emotion that would disappear, saying she no longer wanted anything to do with him?

His grip tightened around her shoulder unknowingly while these thoughts ran in his head. There was no way he'd want her to leave his side. He wouldn't allow that to happen. But was he willing to trap her just to keep her beside him?

Just like what he did with Becca in the past?

That was a fucking mistake. Becca saw him kill someone, and that scarred her—enough to make her want to leave him. And, of course, he couldn't just let her go. She was a fucking witness for a crime. He hadn't forgiven himself for not being careful, and that incident pushed him to keep Becca locked inside one of his houses in Italy.

She wasn't totally held captive as he allowed her to roam around as long as it was within the gates. If she wanted to go out, the security was heavy. Becca hated Gael for being a tyrant, and she loathed him for making her a prisoner. He knew he already lost her the moment she witnessed him shooting someone, but he still had to keep her because of what she knew. Remembering all this caused a dull pain in his thigh where she stabbed him on the day he let her go.

Gael let out a long sigh. That felt like eons ago. He might have had a feeling of familiarity with Becca when they were together, but that was a fuck ton of a lot different than how deep he was falling for the woman whose legs were warmly entangled with his right now. He couldn't lose Angela. And he never wanted history to repeat itself. His mother and father didn't work out—and he knew the two loved each other.

Which was why he was struggling. Should he hold on tight and risk having her feel choked from his possessiveness? Or should he loosen his hold and hope to God she wouldn't take it as him letting go?

Fuck.

Angela shifted in his arms a little. A moan escaped from her lips before her eyes fluttered open. She was a little disoriented until her eyes met his, and she bit her bottom lip. "I'm—" She paused, hearing her hoarse voice. After clearing her throat, she said, "I'm sorry for freaking out last night. I couldn't help it when there was thunder. Sorry about the mug."

The corners of his lips slightly curved up as he brushed his knuckles on her cheek. Those beautiful eyes that looked at him would be the death of him. How could he ever let go of her? Gael would be crazy if he did that.

"I don't care about the mug. I was worried about you. I have more mugs in the cupboard. We can break those too."

She laughed, and he couldn't help but match the smile in her eyes.

"There she is…" he stroked her chin and leaned in to kiss her chastely on the lips.