Page 47 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
He leans back in his chair, studying me the way I might study a flower—assessing its structure, its colors, its potential.
"You have a gift," he says. "Not just for arrangement, but for seeing. You look at a space, and you understand what it needs. You look at a flower and you see its soul." He pauses. "That's rare, Ms. Rivers. That kind of perception. That kind of depth."
I don't know what to say. The compliment feels genuine, but coming from him, everything feels like a weapon.
"I want that gift working for me," he continues. "I want to surround myself with beautiful things, created by someone who understands beauty. Is that so difficult to believe?"
"Yes," I say before I can stop myself. "It is."
His smile widens. "Honesty again. I really do appreciate it."
The waiter clears our plates. Coffee is offered and declined—I don't think I could keep it down. Gabriel produces a document from somewhere, slides it across the table.
"The preliminary terms," he says. "Review them. Send any questions to my assistant. We can finalize next week."
I look at the document without really seeing it. Pages of legal language, clauses and subclauses, terms and conditions. A contract that will bind me to him for six months. Six months of working in his home, attending his events, existing in his orbit.
Six months in the serpent's coils.
"I'll need time to think about it," I say.
"Of course. Take the weekend." He stands, and I realize the meeting is over. "I'll have my driver take you home."
"That's not necessary—"
"I insist."
There's no room for argument in his tone. I gather my bag, tuck the document inside, and stand on legs that feel like they might collapse at any moment.
He walks me to the door of the private dining room, his hand hovering at the small of my back without quite touching. The ghost of contact, the promise of more.
"It was a pleasure, Ms. Rivers," he says. "I look forward to working with you."
"I haven't agreed yet."
"No." He opens the door, and the noise of the main dining room washes over us—silverware, conversation, the clink of glasses. "But you will."
I don't respond. I walk through the restaurant without looking back, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. The maître d' escorts me to the entrance, where a black car is already waiting at the curb.
The driver opens the door for me, and I slide inside, sinking into leather seats that probably cost more than everything I own. The door closes. The car pulls away.
And I'm alone with the document in my bag and the taste of ash in my mouth and the certainty that I've just agreed to something I don't fully understand.
But underneath the fear, there's something else. A spark I didn't expect.
I'm inside now. Inside his world, inside his attention, inside the serpent's coils.
And maybe—just maybe—from the inside, I can find a way to survive.
Chapter 12 - Gabriel
She leaves behind the faint scent of rosemary and something floral—her shampoo, the one I smelled in her apartment that night. It lingers in the private dining room like a ghost, and I find myself breathing it in, committing it to memory.
The waiter appears to clear the table, but I wave him away. I want a few more minutes alone with the aftermath of her presence.
The risotto sits barely touched on her abandoned plate. She forced down perhaps three bites, her throat working with visible effort each time. She thought I didn't notice. She was wrong.
I noticed everything.
