HER SECRET,HIS BETRAYAL

CHAPTER 9

GABRIELLA:

Pain wakes me before the sunlight does. A deep, throbbing kind of pain that doesn’t just sit on the surface, it sinks. My cheek burns when I move, and for a few seconds, I just lie there staring at the ceiling, letting last night replay behind my eyes like a bad movie I didn’t ask to watch. The yelling.The accusation. His hand.My stomach twists. I force myself to sit up, the blanket dragging across my sore skin. When my feet hit the cold floor, another ache blooms in my ribs. I shuffle into the bathroom, flick the light on, and immediately regret it.

My reflection looks like someone I don’t know. My cheek is swollen and purple at the edge. My lip has a small split that must’ve bled in the night. There’s faint bruising on my jaw too, older ones mixing with new ones like layers of a life I keep pretending isn’t mine. I breathe out slowly, gripping the sink until my knuckles go white.There’s no point crying, that never fixes anything. So I shower instead, quick and careful, ignoring the sting. When I step back into the room, I notice Brad’s side of the bed is empty. Good. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear his voice. I just want today to pass without breaking me further.I dress up, tie my hair back, and leave the apartment without touching anything that belongs to him.

Outside, the city feels sharp and alive. The streets are bright with morning sunlight bouncing off glass skyscrapers. Cars speed past in bursts, horns blaring, people arguing and laughing into phones. A street vendor yells over the chaos, hawking breakfast sandwiches, the smell of fresh coffee mingling with exhaust fumes. The world moves so effortlessly around me while I feel stuck in slow motion. By the time I get to the diner, I’m already exhausted. The bell above the door jingles, and the warmth inside is almost overwhelming. Jessica is wiping down the counter when she looks up, and freezes. “Gabby… what happened?” Her voice drops, soft but worried. “Nothing,” I say quickly, offering a practiced half-smile. “I opened a door too fast and hit myself.” It sounds ridiculous. We both know it. But she doesn’t push. She never does. She just watches me with that lingering sadness I can’t stand because it feels too much like pity.

I tie my apron, grab my notepad, and start the morning. Fake smiles, fake energy, fake everything. I chat with the regulars, Mrs. Harper and her endless stories about her cat, the office guys who always flirt way too much, the tired college girl who only ever orders black coffee and looks even more drained than I feel. I laugh at their jokes. I refill cups. I move like a machine. But my mind keeps slipping away, floating back to last night, wondering how many more mornings I’ll wake up like this before something in me breaks for real.

It’s almost noon when the diner door opens again and Jessica nudges me with her hip, smirking. “Your favorite customer is here.” My heart does a stupid little jump I ignore. I turn, and there he is. Zane. Casual but somehow still sharp, wearing a dark shirt with the sleeves pushed up and his tattoos peeking underneath, jaw set like he’s thinking about something heavy. His eyes find mine instantly, and I swear the breath leaves my lungs for a second. I walk toward him, my hands tightening around my notepad. He doesn’t greet me. His gaze drops to my face, lingers on the bruise, and something dark flickers across his features. “Who the hell hit you?” he asks, voice low. “It’s nothing,” I answer, forcing a shrug. “A door hit me.” He looks at me like he knows I’m lying, because of course he does, but he doesn’t push. Not yet. Instead, he orders his usual coffee. I bring it, and he opens his laptop, settling in like he does this every day.

When I come back for refills, he closes the lid halfway. “You’ve been off all morning,” he says quietly. “Are you okay?” I try to laugh it off. “I’m fine. Just tired.” “Gabriella. The way he says my name makes my chest tighten. “If you need anything… money, help, anything at all… you can tell me.” Brad’s words from last night claw at the back of my mind: If he likes you, use him.

It makes my stomach twist. “I don’t need anything,” I say softly. He studies me for a long moment, then shifts slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “Go on a date with me tomorrow evening.” He says, I blink. “Why?” “Just because,” he says simply. “Because I want to spend time with you.” I want to say no. I really do. I shouldn’t drag him into my mess. But something in me, something small and hopeful and stupid, pushes me forward. “I… don’t have anything to wear.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Give me your address.” Suspicion flares. “Why?” “So someone can bring you something to wear.” I hesitate, then give it to him. He nods once, like that settles everything. “Someone will be in touch with you.”. And then he stands up to leave. I glance down at the table only to clear up his booth, only to find a $200 tip he left behind. My chest warms, a fluttering spark I haven’t felt in a long time.

My shift ends in a blur. I’m barely out the door when my phone rings. An unfamiliar number flashes across the screen. “Hello?” “Hello! Is this Gabriella?” a bright female voice answers. “My name is Sasha. I’m a stylist working for Mr. Steel. I’ll be assisting you with picking out dresses and shoes for tomorrow evening.” My eyes widen. “Oh… um… okay.” She gives me details, a fitting at 5 p.m. the next day, options for dresses, shoes, accessories. She’s so cheerful it feels unreal. We hang up, and not even a minute later, my phone rings again. This time the voice is deep. Familiar. “Gabriella.” “Zane.” I let out a breath. “I just got a call from someone named Sasha. You didn’t have to do all that.” “It’s no stress for me,” he says. “I just want you there, looking good, so pick out whatever you want and don't worry about the costs.” The compliment catches me off guard. Warmth spreads across my chest in a way that feels dangerous. “I’ll have my driver pick you up. What time is your fitting?” “Five.”“He’ll be there.”

"Are you off work" He asks, "Yeah I just left,I just need to pick up a milkshake then head over to Inferno",I say. There’s a pause, long enough that I think the call dropped, until he speaks again, voice edged with something almost protective. “I don’t like you working at there,it's filled with lurking men","Well it pays the bill,I don't really have a choice" I say, “You shouldn’t be there,” he says, voice firm. “You can always ask me for help.” A small laugh escapes before I can stop it. “I can’t do that.” “You can,” he says. “And you should. I just want to see you happy.” I swallow hard, suddenly overwhelmed. “Thank you… for everything. The clothes. The tips. All of it.” “Anytime,” he says.

Another pause. Then, softer but sharper at the same time:

“The person who keeps hurting you won’t get away with it forever.” My heart stutters. We end the call, and for the first time today, I smile. Not a fake one. A real one.

Inferno is crowded and loud, the neon lights painting everything red and gold. My body moves on autopilot, makeup, stage, routines, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere calmer.

When I get home, the apartment is silent. Brad isn’t there. I shower slowly, washing off the sweat and the glitter and the exhaustion. When I crawl into bed, my body aches… but my heart feels strangely light. And that feeling scares me. Because I know exactly who’s responsible for it. Zane. And I don’t know whether that’s beautiful or dangerous. But as I close my eyes, for the first time in a long time… I let myself feel happy. Just a little.