The Alphard glided through the wet streets of Jakarta. Puddles splashed against the sides. Inside the cabin, it was silent.
In the cold, leather-scented interior, no one spoke. Gabriel sat beside me, staring straight ahead at the glass partition separating us from the driver. His jaw was still set hard, his arms folded across his chest. He looked like he was about to explode any second.
I sat curled up in the corner, hugging my dirty knees. My red dress—sexy a few hours ago in Emilio's apartment—was now crumpled and filthy. Torn at the hem, stained with carpet dirt, and smelling of... cheap alcohol, another man's sweat, and failure.
I didn't dare look at Gabriel. Usually, when I caused trouble—crashed a car, overspent on shopping, or got drunk at a club—Gabriel would lecture me at lengt
