Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter IX - The PASSWORD

She had no idea where he was taking her—only that Vincent was dragging her out of the ballroom with a grip on her wrist so tight it felt as though the world might end if she didn't keep up.

Gabrielle's mind was blank, too stunned to speak, even when Vincent ushered her into his car and sped them down into the city until they stopped at The Atelier.

He parked, stared at the steering wheel for a moment, then turned to face her. She still hadn't moved. Still staring into nothing.

He couldn't read a thing on her face. No fury, no tears—just absolute numbness.

"Gab..."

He reached hesitantly for her hand—the one now wearing his ring. Her gaze finally shifted, following the movement.

"You knew..." she whispered. Then she wrenched her hand from his hold as though scorched.

"You're just like them."
Before he could respond, she unfastened her seatbelt with shaking hands, flung the door open, and stepped out.

"Gab—" He attempted to stop her, catching her wrist, but she tore herself free and slammed the door. She strode to the elevator without once looking back.

"Bloody hell...!" he cursed, slamming his fists into the steering wheel before bolting after her. But the lift doors snapped shut, the last thing he saw being her face—full of fury and disgust—meeting his for a fleeting, devastating second.

He struck the elevator doors with both hands, frustration boiling under his skin. Her anger mattered—more than it should.

She didn't know. She genuinely had no idea what had been arranged for them tonight. She had been humiliated.

He hammered the call button repeatedly, desperate to follow her.

The moment the lift reached the top floor, he sprinted out, heading straight for her penthouse.

"Gabby!" He rang the bell, knocked, called, pleaded—nothing. He knew she wouldn't open the door for him even if he stayed there all night.

Raking a frustrated hand through his silvering hair, he did the one thing he knew would make her livid: he keyed in her door code. The lock clicked open, guilt twisting in his chest.

"Gabby, please—"

He stepped inside and found her in chaos—shoving clothes into a suitcase, a half-emptied bottle of whisky clutched in her hand.

"Gabby, what are you doing?" he demanded, watching her take another swallow before flinging more clothes into the case.

"Gabby, listen—"

"Get out!" she screamed, launching the bottle at him. He ducked just in time as it shattered against the wall behind him.

"Gabby, let me explain—"

"Explain what?! How you made a complete idiot of me with your grandfather and my dear father?!" She snatched up a picture frame, ready to throw it, but Vincent caught her shoulders.

"Gabby—!" he tried to steady her, but she shoved him off.

"You deceitful bastard!" Her hand snapped across his face before he even realised she was moving.

"You swine!" Another blow landed, catching the corner of his mouth and splitting the skin.

Before he could think—before he could breathe—he pulled her towards him, and their lips collided in a heated, angry crash.

Gabrielle froze, shocked. She shoved him hard, but he held fast, the kiss only growing more forceful, his hand braced at the nape of her neck while his fingers traced the line of her spine, desperate to anchor her—to make her stop—anything.

"L-let... me... go—" she managed between breaths, but he kissed her again, frantic and stupid.

She'd had enough.

Her knee connected sharply with his front, and he collapsed back with a strangled groan.

"Get out!"

"You—bloody—" he barked, clutching himself, face contorted with pain.

"You swine! Get out before I actually murder you!" she shouted, breathless with fury and the remnants of the unwanted kiss.

"Bloody hell—Gabby—!" he doubled over. It hadn't been that hard, but damn it hurt.

"Don't you dare show your face to me again!" She hurled a pile of clothes into his face, then shoved him to the floor.

"Do you honestly think you're the only one who hates this engagement?!" Vincent snapped, struggling to stand. "Do you think I'm thrilled about being shackled to an overindulged brat?!"

"Oh, spare me!" she shot back. "You performed perfectly well tonight! You could've said no! You could've had a spine! But no—you knew everything from the start and said absolutely nothing!"

Another handful of clothes flew at him. He caught the last item and—despite everything—nearly laughed.

"We're not even married yet, munchkin, and you're already throwing your underwear at me?"

Her face went crimson as he held the small red garment up.

"Get out!" she shrieked, mortified, before hurling the entire suitcase at him.

"Get out!"

Tears now streamed freely down her face—raw, furious, devastated.

Vincent's chest tightened. Her anger he could take. Her tears—those tore him apart.

"Gabby..." he said quietly.

"Get out!" she cried again, hurling the next thing in reach—this time her bra. He didn't dare make a joke now. Not when she was unravelling completely.

He held back, letting her vent—she needed it. And she was right. He should have told her.

"Leave me alone! Get out!" she sobbed, collapsing beside the bed, burying her face in her hands.

At that moment, she wished she'd never been born. Wished she belonged to anyone but her parents. Wished she could disappear entirely.

Vincent had almost seemed different. Kinder. Someone who cared. Someone who might actually be a friend.

But she'd been wrong. Again.

He was just like her father. Just another man who could ruin her without blinking.

"Gabrielle, please... just listen to me—"

"I said get out! Leave me alone! Bugger off, Walton! Go before all your precious plans fall apart and you end up marrying a corpse bride!"

Vincent froze at that.

What did she mean by that?

"If you have even a shred of decency," she choked out, voice breaking, "you'll leave me alone. You're already ruining my life with Davis. Just..."

She sobbed harder.

"Just leave me alone."

Because she knew—deep inside—that if this continued, she'd end up living the exact miserable life her mother had... trapped in a marriage built on nothing but power, money, and pain.