When She Learned My Name

18. Buzz

The sharp, intrusive buzz of the phone against the polished mahogany desk shatters the quiet intimacy of the room.

The screen lights up instantly, casting a harsh, bright glare over the dark wood. Gray’s name flashes at the top, accompanied by a string of frantic texts that practically radiate his protective anxiety: “Gabby, how was it? Are you okay? Need me to come over?”

Gabriella stares down at the glowing screen, a sudden wave of nervous amusement and lingering guilt hitting her all at once. She can practically picture her older brother pacing the floor of their apartment, ready to throw caution, corporate alliances, and common sense entirely to the wind if she doesn't reply within thirty seconds.

Beside her, Fernando glances down at the screen. A slow, knowing smile touches the corner of his mouth, and a quiet, low laugh rumbles in his chest.

"The protective older brother protocol has been activated," Fernando murmurs, leaning back slightly and gesturing toward her phone with a nod. "Go on, Gabby. Before he calls out the National Guard or tries to storm the Blake Tower lobby with a letter opener. Tell him you're alive."

With a quick, practiced tap of her thumb against the glass, she fires off the digital lifeline before Gray’s imagination can completely spiral into a corporate rescue mission.

“I’m okay!! Breathe Gray. Hahaha”

The screen goes dark, the frantic ping silenced as she tosses the phone aside onto the edge of the mahogany desk, abandoning the outside world entirely to the quiet sanctuary of the penthouse.

Slowly, deliberately, as if moving too fast might shatter the fragile, hard-won peace between them, she shifts in her chair. Her movements are hesitant, laced with the lingering ghost of the terror that had gripped her throat just hours ago, but beneath it is a deep, anchoring certainty. She tilts her head, letting her temple come to rest gently against the broad, solid expanse of Fernando’s shoulder.

The crisp, clean scent of cedar and ozone washes over her, instantly grounding the chaotic spinning of her mind.

For a breathless second, Fernando freezes, unaccustomed to such unshielded, physical vulnerability. Then, with a soft, involuntary exhale, his posture shifts. The rigid, armored composure of the syndicate boss melts away, replaced by a quiet, protective warmth. His arm comes up, wrapping securely and naturally around her shoulders, his long fingers resting against her back in a steady, unyielding embrace that pulls her flush against his side.

Neither of them speaks. The heavy leather-bound dossier remains open on the desk beside them, its dense, terrifying columns of blood, money, and invisible war still waiting to be studied. The Toronto skyline continues to churn beneath the heavy autumn clouds far below, and somewhere down there, Gray is probably staring at his phone, still half-convinced she’s being held hostage by a monster.

Let him wonder.

For right now, high above the city in the heart of the shadow, the storm has cleared. There are no more secrets left to unearth, no more terrifying chasms to cross—just the quiet, rhythmic beat of Fernando’s heart beneath her cheek, and the undeniable, lifelong truth of what they are to each other.

***

A week later

The grand, high-ceilinged study of the Valentina mansion feels less like a home and more like a tribunal this evening. The heavy oak doors are firmly shut, cutting off the quiet murmurs of the household staff, leaving only the steady tick of the antique grandfather clock in the corner.

Across the polished mahogany coffee table, Gray sits rigid on the edge of the velvet armchair, his elbows braced on his knees and his hands steepled tightly in front of his face. His sharp, intelligent eyes—the exact same shade as her own—are locked onto her with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe.

"Start from the beginning, Gabby," Gray says, his voice dangerously low, stripped of any warmth. He unsteepled his fingers, gesturing sharply between the empty space of the room and the closed door leading outside.

"Because for the last seven days, I’ve watched you walk around this house like you’re half-asleep, staring at your phone, suddenly entirely unbothered by the Blakes, and slipping away to meetings at Blake Tower that you refuse to log on the corporate calendar."

Gabriella swallows hard, her fingers twisting and turning the fabric of her long sleeves until her knuckles are stark white.

"Gray, I told you, everything is fine—"

"Don't give me that," Gray snaps, standing up abruptly and pacing a short line across the Persian rug before turning back to tower over her. The frustration, fear, and sheer disbelief finally break through his controlled exterior.

"You think I'm blind? You think I don't know the look of someone who's hiding something? Richard Blake called me yesterday just to casually inquire about VALCOR’s quarterly audit—which he never does—and he had this smug, untouchable tone like he just won a poker game he didn't even have to play."

He stops right in front of her chair, his gaze dropping to her trembling hands clutching her sleeves.

"And you... every time his name comes up, your face changes. You went into that tower terrified out of your mind, and you came out looking like... like you belong to him." Gray's breath hitches, a dark, horrified realization dawning in his eyes as he connects the dots he’s been refusing to see all week.

"Tell me right now, Gabby. Tell me I'm losing my mind. What is going on between you and Fernando?"