Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter XVIII - LET ME IN

"She's missing...!" Vincent's voice cracked the stillness as he stormed into Gabrielle's father's office, panic woven into every syllable.

"What on Earth do you mean she's missing?!" Gabriel's voice was sharp, controlled, yet laced with an edge of worry. "She disappeared right after the reception. I cannot find her anywhere!"

Gabriel Davis's jaw clicked as he rose from his swivel chair, gaze drifting out the window, drawn to a place suspended in memory.

"She isn't missing," he said quietly, voice almost to himself. "You just cannot find her."

Vincent froze, the words sinking into him. His eyes followed Gabriel's to the gardens outside. That secret corner—once Gabrielle's sanctuary, their sanctuary—where laughter and light had once danced across the lawns, where her mother had taught her to dream, where they had been a family in perfect harmony... That place had been abandoned for a decade. A decade of grief, of wounds left untended, of a girl lost to sorrow.

"You are not even bothered where your daughter could be?!" Vincent's voice shook. "Because I am! And if anything happens to her, I shall hold myself accountable—for trapping her in this... in this marriage!"

Gabriel's lips curved in a slow, measured smile. "A trap, you say? Now you disappoint me, Vincent. Are you confirming that all my conditions, all my arrangements, were only accepted for wealth and power?"

"You know very well I could survive without your money, Davis."

"Survive, perhaps. But what of the hundreds who depend on your company? The families whose futures are entwined with your decisions? Do you regret signing up for this?" His gaze sharpened, smirking.

"What I regret," Vincent said, each word dripping with bitter truth, "is meeting you before meeting her. I regret the deal before showing her what she deserved. You've ruined her, Davis! Ruined her before I had a chance to protect her, to care for her, to make her feel cherished. That is my only regret!"

He stormed toward the door, only to halt as Gabriel's calm voice cut through the tension.

"The secret garden," Gabriel said, voice even.

Vincent spun, all focus drawn to him. Gabriel's hands were clasped, his expression smug yet calculating.

"The wall behind the altar... where you exchanged vows. That is where your wife is now," he said, dismissively waving a hand.

Vincent wasted no second. Midnight had passed; his search had stretched for hours. Every corner of the château had been checked. Every maid had been questioned. She had vanished after entertaining their guests, leaving no trace but a growing emptiness.

The secret garden awaited him—once a slice of paradise, now a testament to neglect. Dead plants clawed at the edges, dry leaves littered the ground, the lake beside the oak tree sickly and murky. The bridge was slick with algae and cobwebs. Even the boat bearing Gabrielle's name lay in ruin, as broken as her heart.

And there she was.

A solitary figure on a wooden swing beneath the old treehouse, crying softly. The wedding gown clung to her, but the veil had long fallen. Her hair had been cut into uneven lengths—short, jagged, wild—a chaotic mirror of the turmoil in her heart. She looked ethereal yet shattered, like a wounded bird in silk.

Vincent approached cautiously, each step hesitant before he finally reached her. The cold breeze wrapped around them both. He draped his tuxedo over her shoulders.

Gabrielle flinched, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were rivers of sorrow, mascara streaked across her cheeks.

"Get out of here!" she snapped, swaying from the alcohol she had consumed.

"You've had enough," he said, taking the bottle from her hands. As she reached for it, unsteady, he caught her by the waist to prevent her fall.

"Enough?!" Her laugh was bitter, derisive. "That's an understatement, dear husband." She tried to push him away, but he held her tight, lifting her gently, cradling her against him.

"Stop hurting yourself, Gab... I'm here. I won't leave you, and I won't hurt you."

"I hate you..." she whispered into his chest, tears mingling with sobs. "...the most right now..."

"Even so," he murmured, pressing her closer, "I will love you... the most, from now on." He kissed her temple, then her forehead, holding her fragile frame as though she were the most precious thing in existence.

Inside the château, the journey to their room was quiet but tense. She was in his arms, vulnerable, intoxicated, yet entirely his to protect. He kissed her forehead again as he laid her gently upon the bed.

"Bella... you must change," he murmured.

Her eyes fluttered open, hazy with exhaustion and alcohol. Vincent sighed. She could not rise on her own.

With tender care, he turned her, loosening the gown from her waist. It was a delicate act—one that left him conflicted, staring at the familiar beauty beneath silk and lace. He had never undressed her before, and yet here he was, doing so out of necessity, not desire, and feeling every inch of hesitation and reverence.

He fetched clean clothes, carefully wiping her face to remove smudged mascara, marveling silently at the woman before him.

"Let me in, Gab... let me make this work for us..." His hands cupped her face, his eyes pleading.

"Let me love you," he whispered, leaning in to press his lips gently to her forehead, then along the bridge of her nose.

Gabrielle stirred, weakly opening her eyes.

"Don't..." Her voice was barely audible. "L-love me, Walton... d-don't..."

"It is far too late," he said softly, his forehead resting against hers. "I already do... even before I knew it."

He closed his eyes, heart heavy with sorrow—for her, for himself, for the cruel circumstances that had brought them to this moment. They could have been perfect together, yet fate had bound them with chains of circumstance and pain.

For now, all they could be was two souls trapped in an imperfect union, fragile and vulnerable, but together nonetheless.