Gabriel’s POV 

The ride back home was suffocating in its silence, at least for me. My mother and Aria spoke quietly in the backseat, no doubt trying to make sense of the explosion that had just taken place at the ball. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. 

Every second that passed was filled with the image of Matilda kissing Damon stuck in my brain, as if it is etching itself into my memory. The thoughts of what they could be doing right now had me squeezing the life out of the steering wheel of my car.

How could I have been so oblivious and ignorant to the fact that Matilda is a billionaire heiress?

Thinking about it now, the signs were there. The way she spoke about art, not like an admirer, but like someone who had lived with it. The way she carried herself, with a confidence that didn’t come from grooming or desperation but from legacy. She never flinched at wealth because she was born into it. I should’ve fucking known.

But I didn’t.

And now I looked like a fool.

When we pulled up to my house, I didn’t wait. I didn’t bother to open the door for Aria or my mother, didn’t even glance their way. I just stepped out, slammed the door shut, and walked up the steps alone. The night air stung my face, or maybe that was the humiliation still clinging to my skin from the slap. From her rejection. From everything.

Inside, I went straight to the bar in the sitting room. The lights were dim, the air stale, and the silence louder than anything my mother or Aria could say. I grabbed the nearest bottle, bourbon, something with enough bite to match my mood, and poured myself a glass.

It went down hard, burning my throat. I liked it that way.

The front door opened behind me. Their voices followed. I didn’t turn around.

"Gabriel!" my mother snapped. "You just left us standing outside like maids." What has gotten into you?"

I poured another glass, downed it, and only then turned to face her. “I don’t want to hear it.”

She froze, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” I grinned, “I don’t want to fucking hear it. I lost out on billions. Do you get that? Billions. Matilda…” her name tasted bitter now, “—was a Geal. The Geal fortune. And I threw it away. We threw it away. All for what? "To end up with her?” I motioned vaguely at her as she walked in, closing the door behind her.

My mother looked stunned. “Honey… How were we supposed to know? It’s not like it was written on her face, and we ignored it.”

“No,” I scoffed. But maybe it was written. In the way she lived. The way she moved. She didn’t flaunt it because she didn’t need to. That’s real wealth. The kind you can’t fake. Not like the one I am stuck with right now.”

“You know I’m standing right here, right?” Aria’s voice cut sharply.

I turned, eyes bloodshot from anger and alcohol, and stared at her. “And so what if you are?”

Her jaw clenched. “So maybe don’t act like I’m invisible, especially when my father is investing in your latest business venture.”

I laughed bitterly and took another sip. “A mistake?” I let the glass dangle between my fingers. “Compared to Matilda, you’re nothing. You are not as beautiful, and you are apparently not as rich. You are worthless.”

The words came out sharper than I intended, or maybe just sharp enough. Either way, they landed like a slap, and Aria delivered one right back.

Her palm connected with my cheek, the exact same cheek Matilda slapped me, and my head snapped to the side.

The sting was instant. Tonight was full of slaps.

“You son of a bitch!” she hissed.

I didn’t think, I didn’t even breathe. I just lunged at her, the glass falling from my hand and shattering against the hardwood floor. I grabbed her by the arms, pushing her back toward the wall. My anger had morphed into something unrecognizable. Something animal.

She screamed, struggling beneath my grip, and that’s when my mother pulled me back.

“Gabriel! "Stop it!” Eunice yelled, slapping my arms to break my hold on Aria. “Have you lost your mind?! She is carrying your child for Christ's sake.”

I let go off Aria stumbled back, gasping, her hands frantically brushing her arms like she could wipe away the memory of my grip. I stepped back, horrified by what I had nearly done. She stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief, then turned and bolted upstairs without a word.

What the hell was I becoming?

“She slapped me. "She dared to slap me,” I muttered weakly, still dazed, my voice barely reaching my mother.

“And you were about to hit her,” my mother snapped, stepping in front of me with a look of pure fury. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m finding it hard to handle this loss, Mom. She was right there, and we didn’t get anything from her. "Nothing!” I shouted, desperation creeping into my voice.

My mother moved closer, her tone shifting slightly, softening with reason. “I understand, son, but don’t forget that a bird in the hand is better than so many in the sky. You can’t afford to lose Aria right now.”

“So, what do you suggest I do?” I asked, unsure where she was going with this, though I had a sinking feeling I already knew.

“Go and apologize to Aria,” she said firmly. Make her forget what just happened, the only way you know how. And then we can come up with a strategy for Matilda.”