Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter XXXII - TURNING TABLES

"Vince..."
Gabrielle stirred, waking with a shiver that cut straight through her hospital gown. The cold clung to her like a second skin. Instinctively, her hand reached across the sheets—searching for his. For the familiar warmth that had rested atop hers every night she slept.

But her fingers met only emptiness.

"Vince..." Her voice trembled as she forced her eyes open, squinting against the dim glow of the night-lamp. She had been confined to this dreadful hospital bed for more than a day now—more than a day since Vincent had donated blood to her.

To her astonishment, they shared the same rare blood type.
His platelets now flowed in her veins.

He had saved her.

Again.

This was not the first time he had shielded her from danger—but it was the first time she truly felt the depth of his care.

He loves her.
His voice—low, pained, unbearably sincere—echoed in her mind even as she slept.

He loves her.

She had wanted so desperately not to believe him. She knew she ought not to—who knew whether he was merely performing for effect?

But honesty had a weight.
And she had felt it in him.
Not only in his words, but every time their eyes met.

The passion, the protectiveness, the quiet devotion—she had been blind to it, building her walls sky-high, convinced he was nothing more than an opportunist who would marry a dying woman for money.

Yes—she had thought that poorly of him.

Had. Until the last few days, when their strange marriage had softened into the beginnings of an unexpected companionship. And then—yesterday morning—when he had confessed it:

That he loved her.

And something inside her had shifted with mortifying immediacy.

She had tried, of course, to dismiss it as a ploy.
But the truth was simple: he had no need to deceive her anymore.
He was already heir to her father's empire. He already inherited everything she did.

If greed were his motive, he could have destroyed her long ago.

But he never once tried to hurt her.
In fact, he had only ever cared.

Gabrielle sighed, clutching her chest as a faint ache tightened there.

She could not afford to be deceived by her own foolish heart again.
Once had been quite enough.

She could not survive another betrayal like Ryan's.
And not from Vincent—not when she dared, against all caution, to hope that he might truly be different.

"V-Vince..." she whispered again, dizziness washing over her. The door opened, a tall figure casting a shadow across the room.

"V-Vince...?" she breathed hopefully.

But it wasn't him.

"Mrs Walton," the man greeted gently—a nurse in uniform.

"W-where... is my husband?" she asked weakly as he checked her temperature and switched on the lights.

"Mr Walton is resting in the other room," he replied. "He only just regained some strength after donating blood for you."

"H-how is he?" she asked, heart squeezing painfully. She wanted desperately to ask him to fetch Vincent—to tell him she needed him—but the request caught in her throat. He needed rest too. Why had he been put in a separate room?