Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter VI - ALOHOMORA

The heavy doors of Gabriel Davis' library swung open with the force of a man who had abandoned restraint. Vincent strode inside, jaw locked, splendour of the room be damned.

"Why," he demanded, voice low but furious, "did you have to cancel her licence?"

Gabriel looked up from behind his vast mahogany desk, adjusting the spectacles precariously perched on his aquiline nose. "How is she?"

Vincent scoffed. "You froze her accounts, confiscated every penny she earned for herself, and now I discover she is—was—a doctor. A doctor whose licence was revoked by her own father. What in God's name are you doing to her?"

Gabriel Davis leaned back in his leather chair with the leisurely grace of a man watching a chessboard he believed himself to have mastered. "She used to like this mansion a great deal when she was a child. Preferred the London house, of course... and the ranch in the countryside. That girl—"

"That girl," Vincent bit out, slamming a bloodstained handkerchief onto the polished desk, "is killing herself."

Gabriel's eyes flicked to the blood—her blood—darkening the linen. His jaw twitched.

"Do you even realise," Vincent continued, breath sharp, German vowels cutting through his English, "what she's become? How she hates her life so profoundly she flirts with the idea of ending it, all because you insist on choking every corner of her freedom?"

Gabriel studied him. Not his words—him.
It made Vincent's skin crawl.

"I can see you care for her," the older man murmured, gaze drifting towards a framed photograph on his desk.

Vincent did not follow it. He glared.

"But caring for her makes you weak," Gabriel continued softly. "Your job is to tame her."

Vincent let out a cold, humourless laugh. "Tame her? You turned your daughter into a reckless storm, and now you've the audacity to expect me to leash the hurricane you created?"

A flicker—annoyance, perhaps—crossed Gabriel's eyes.

"To think she's a doctor," Vincent whispered harshly, "and you stripped her of the very identity she built for herself. Why, Gabriel?"

"So you believe involving you is what destroys her?" Gabriel's fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes narrowing with the interest of a scientist observing an unpredictable specimen.

Vincent's glare darkened. His German accent surfaced like the rough edge of steel. "Do not flatter yourself. I am not ensnared in your schemes."

Gabriel smiled—a thin, cutting thing. "It appears my bait is not the only thing that caught you."

"You're miserable," Vincent muttered, contempt soft as ash. He turned to leave.

"I am transferring all my estates to Gabrielle's name—and yours—in two weeks," Gabriel said calmly. "Immediately after the marriage."

Vincent froze.
His hands trembled—not with fear, but fury.

Marriage.

Gott im Himmel.

He could not imagine marrying Gabrielle. He felt for her—more than he wanted to admit—but marriage?
And she, that wild, wounded creature, would never quietly accept such a fate.

"Your daughter does not simply 'agree' to things," Vincent said through gritted teeth.

Gabriel stood, stopping beside him with a quiet arrogance. "I know. Rest assured... she will."

Vincent's stomach twisted. The man walked past him, smirking with victory smugly settled on his lips.

Vincent stormed out and channelled every ounce of his anger, confusion, and unwelcome concern into the accelerator of his Porsche. He tore through the New York streets like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts—horn blaring, tyres screaming protest.