The next morning, Gabriella stood in front of the massive double doors of the penthouse in Tribeca. She held a green box from Lady M containing a matcha crepe cake. She took a deep breath, pressing her thumb against the biometric scanner on the private elevator.
The metal doors slid open silently. The living room was enormous, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Hudson River. The furniture was minimalist, cold, and incredibly expensive.
She stepped out of the elevator. Suddenly, the door to the master bedroom swung open. A thick cloud of steam carrying the sharp scent of cedar and mint body wash rolled into the hallway, establishing an overwhelming, dominant presence.
Emmett walked out. He was wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his waist. His broad chest and long legs were completely bare.
Droplets of water clung to his skin, sliding down the hard, defined lines of his abdominal muscles before disappearing into the edge of the towel. The raw, aggressive male energy radiating from him sucked the oxygen out of the room.
Gabriella gasped. She spun around instantly, her grip slipping on the cake box. She barely caught it before it hit the hardwood floor.
Emmett stopped drying his hair. He stared at her stiff back. A low, mocking chuckle rumbled in his chest.
He deliberately slowed his steps, walking up right behind her.
"Are you satisfied with the view?" he asked. His voice was thick with a low-pressure teasing that made the hairs on her arms stand up.
Gabriella's ears burned. She kept her eyes glued to the wall.
"I have absolutely zero interest in exhibitionists," she snapped, her voice tight.
Before Emmett could reply, Eloise poked her head out from the kitchen. She screamed with joy and ran over, throwing her arms around Gabriella.
Eloise shot a furious glare at her brother. She shooed him away, telling him to go put some clothes on. Eloise then grabbed Gabriella's hand and pulled her down the long corridor toward the guest bedroom.
The door to the guest room was slightly open. The room inside was pitch black. Heavy blackout curtains blocked out every ounce of the morning sun.
Seven-year-old Charlee was curled into a tight ball inside a small play tent in the corner. Her tiny fingers were gripping a black crayon so hard her knuckles were white.
The carpet around the tent was littered with dozens of drawing papers. They were all covered in chaotic, violent black lines-monsters with sharp teeth and bleeding eyes.
Gabriella's posture changed instantly. The anger from the hallway vanished. Her eyes became incredibly focused and soft.
She did not walk directly to the tent. She sat down cross-legged on the floor, keeping a safe two-meter distance from the little girl.
Gabriella lowered her voice. She used a slow, rhythmic tone, starting a story about a brave little bear who got lost in a dark forest.
Charlee's violent shaking slowly stopped. She peeked out through the flap of the tent, showing one large, terrified eye.
Emmett appeared silently at the bedroom doorway. He was now wearing a dark turtleneck sweater and casual slacks. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe.
He watched Gabriella work. He watched her endless patience. The coldness in his eyes melted away for a split second, replaced by a dark, intense hunger and deep admiration.
Twenty minutes later, Charlee finally relaxed her grip. The black crayon dropped onto the carpet with a soft thud.
Gabriella slowly stood up. She backed out of the room quietly and pulled the door shut. She turned to face the siblings in the hallway.
She pulled a small notebook and a pen from her bag. She spoke rapidly, listing five severe symptoms of PTSD that Charlee was displaying.
Gabriella looked straight into Emmett's eyes. She did not flinch.
"The root of this trauma is a long-term, violent domestic environment," Gabriella stated firmly. "You need to cut off all contact between Charlee and her father, Gene. Immediately. Otherwise, my psychological intervention is completely useless."
Eloise covered her mouth with both hands. Tears streamed down her face. The fear of her violent adopted brother, Gene, was evident in her shaking shoulders.
Emmett's playful demeanor vanished. The air around him turned freezing cold. He radiated a suffocating, dominant authority that made Gabriella's chest feel heavy.
He stared down at her, his jaw clenched tight.
"Do you have any idea what happens to people who interfere with the internal affairs of the Kane family?" he asked, his voice a lethal whisper.
Gabriella pushed her shoulders back. She met his threatening gaze head-on.
"I only answer to the life of my patient," she replied coldly.
The air in the hallway felt like solid concrete. They stood inches apart, locked in a silent, explosive battle of wills.
