Chapter 39: The Devil’s Mercy
Diane’s pulse pounded as Gabriel’s grip tightened around her waist, his body shielded her.
The restaurant doors opened as his men swarmed the area.
"Find them," Gabriel ordered in a calm, terrifyingly controlled tone. "I want them alive."
Within seconds, his guards fanned out, disappearing.
Diane tried to step back, but Gabriel held her firm.
"Someone tried to kill me," she whispered.
"No," Gabriel corrected, brushing his thumb against her jaw. "Someone tried to steal what’s mine."
She shuddered.
He smirked. "Don’t look so shaken, darling. You should know by now—I don’t share."
A distant shout rang through the night.
They caught him.
Gabriel didn’t even turn his head. "Take him to the warehouse."
Diane’s stomach twisted. Whoever had fired that bullet was now as good as dead.
Gabriel leaned in, his breath ghosting against her ear.
"See? I told you, Diane. There’s no escape."
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she let him guide her into the restaurant.
The restaurant was empty except for them.
Gabriel had ensured privacy—whether for security or control, she didn’t know.
Diane sat across from him at the candlelit table, her untouched wine glass between them.
The quiet was suffocating.
She stared at her plate, pushing the food around with her fork.
"What’s the point of this?" she finally asked.
Gabriel took a sip of his wine, watching her like a predator watches prey. "Dinner."
She scoffed. "Dinner? After someone just tried to kill us?"
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.
"And yet, we’re still here."
Her fingers tightened around the silverware. "Not by choice."
Gabriel smirked. "Aren’t you tired, Diane? Of pretending?"
Her breath stopped. "Pretending what?"
"That you don’t still feel me," he murmured. "That you don’t remember what it was like to be mine."
She clenched her jaw. "You’re insane."
Gabriel chuckled, twirling the stem of his glass. "Maybe."
The rest of the meal passed in silence.
And then, when she thought it was over—when she thought she’d be allowed to go home—Gabriel stood, extended his hand, and simply said:
"Come."
Diane hesitated. "Where?"
His lips curved into a weird smile.
"The clinic."
Diane’s heels clicked against the marble floors of Gabriel’s private clinic.
The scent of antiseptic and something colder—something clinical, inhuman—was in the air.
She didn’t want to be here, especially after that time she caught him with Evelyn.
She wrapped her arms around herself as he led her down a low lit hallway, past rows of rooms filled with only medical equipment.
"You’re awfully quiet," Gabriel mused.
Diane swallowed. "I don’t have anything to say."
Gabriel pushed open a door. "That’s a shame. I do."
She stepped inside cautiously.
It wasn’t an ordinary examination room.
The walls were lined with medical tools, surgical equipment flashee under the lights.
At the center was a sleek, steel examination table.
Her stomach churned.
She turned to leave, but Gabriel was already behind her, shutting the door.
She spun around. "No."
He raised a brow. "No?"
"I’m not doing this."
Gabriel sighed. "Diane..." He reached for her, but she stepped back.
"Don’t touch me."
His gaze darkened.
And then, before she could react, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward.
She gasped, stumbling against his chest.
"Enough games," he murmured. "Get on the table."
Diane struggled, but he was stronger, effortlessly lifting her onto the cold steel surface.
Her pulse thundered as he leaned over her, his hands pressed into her hips.
She glared at him, breathless. "You’re a monster."
Gabriel smirked. "And yet, you still tremble when I touch you."
His fingers slid over the fabric of her dress.
And then—rip.
The sound of silk tearing filled the room.
"Wha-"
Diane sucked in a sharp breath as the cool air hit her exposed back.
Gabriel’s pupils turned bigger as he traced a fingertip over the scars littering her skin.
He let out a low exhale, not surprised. "Who did this to you?"
She swallowed hard. "You already know."
He was silent for a moment, his fingers continued their slow, torturous exploration.
Then, in a voice softer than she’d ever heard from him, he said, "I should have killed them."
Diane’s eyes snapped to his.
Gabriel’s grip tightened on her waist. "Every single one of them."
Her breath was uneven. "Why do you care?"
His gaze burned into hers. "Because I should have been the one protecting you."
She shook her head. "You can’t rewrite the past, Gabriel."
"No," he agreed.
His hands trailed lower, his lips ghosting over her shoulder.
"But I can destroy your future enemies."
Diane shuddered. "You’re insane."
Gabriel let out a dark chuckle. "And yet, you’re still here with me..."
His fingers gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
"I will ruin every single person who’s ever hurt you," he whispered. "But you will never belong to anyone else, Diane."
Her heart pounded. "You can’t keep me forever."
Gabriel smirked, lowering his lips to her ear.
"Watch me."
Gabriel was examining each scar precisely that sent a shiver down Diane’s spine.
The hair on her skin stood up, making her shake a little.
His touch was clinical—calculating—but there was something else lurking in his reaction.
Something like the devil, hunting for a soul to make a deal...
He reached for a clipboard from the nearby table, his free hand never leaving her exposed skin.
"Deep," he murmured to himself, noting the jagged patterns along her back.
"Some are old. Some newer ones." His voice was eerily calm as he scribbled something down.
"You were never given proper care. The tissue damage is severe."
Diane’s breathing was uneven.
The cold air against her bare skin was nothing compared to the way his eyes devoured her, taking her apart piece by piece.
She clenched her fists.
"You’re enjoying this," she accused him.
Gabriel smirked, dragging his fingers down her spine slowly, purposefully.
"You think I enjoy seeing my wife marked like this? No, Diane. I hate it."
He leaned down, his breath felt so hot against her ear.
"But what I hate even more... is that I wasn’t the one who did it."