Chapter 3
1241 Words
EMMA
I must have misheard him.
I blinked at Gabriel, the cold December air stinging my eyes as if it were trying to force sense into me. “You want me to what?” My voice came out thin, too wobbly, like the answer would collapse me if I wasn’t careful.
Gabriel stood there casually, hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, dark hair ruffled by the wintry breeze. Everything about him felt… grounded. Heavy. Not in a burdensome way—more like gravity had chosen him as its favorite.
“Spend the holidays with Lune Noire,” he repeated, like he was offering me tea instead of a life-altering detour. “Plan something festive. A holiday getaway. My people will love it.”
I stared at him. Holiday getaway. For a motorcycle club. Me, in the middle of France, abandoned by a man who once swore I was his dream girl. This day wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
“No,” I said immediately. “Absolutely not. I’m not… I can’t just follow a stranger to some biker—”
“You’re safer with me,” he cut in, tone firm but strangely gentle. “And you have nowhere else to go tonight.”
The words pierced. Not because he said them, but because they were true.
He took one slow step toward me, his boots crunching over the thin frost layering the Roche villa driveway.
“You go back in there,” he said, tilting his chin toward the mansion, “and you’ll spend your Christmas listening to Damian’s mother convince herself he did nothing wrong. And his father avoiding eye contact because he knows you deserved better.” His mouth tightened. “That boy lied, dragged you across countries under false pretenses, humiliated you publicly… and his entire family covered it up.”
Covered it up. Like I was the mess they were trying to hide.
I swallowed hard and looked away, my throat stinging.
Gabriel continued, quieter this time. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I opened my mouth to defend the Roches. Habit, maybe. Pride. Hope. I didn’t know.
But nothing came out.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
He wasn’t even close to wrong.
“And your flight?” he added. “Not until after the New Year.” His breath misted between us. “That means staying here. At their mercy.” A faint smirk curved his lips. “At their dining table. Listening to Damian explain why his new girlfriend was ‘better suited’ for him.”
My stomach rolled.
I hugged my arms around myself, squeezing until my fingers hurt. “I still shouldn’t go with you,” I murmured. “I barely know you.”
“That’s fair.” He shrugged a shoulder. “But everyone in that villa knows you. And not one of them protected you tonight.”
The truth burned more than the cold.
He came closer again—not invading, just near enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Emma,” he said in that deep, steady way of his, “you plan events. You create experiences. And right now, I’m offering you a real escape. A job. A place to breathe for a few days. If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave the second your flight opens up.”
“I…” My voice cracked.
The wind nipped at my cheeks, already raw from crying earlier. I probably looked like heartbreak drowned in mascara. Great first impression.
Gabriel softened. I could hear it more than I could see it. “Trade misery,” he said, “for purpose. It’s only temporary.”
Temporary.
That word somehow soothed and scared me all at once.
I inhaled shakily. “I don’t want to think about Damian anymore.”
“Then don’t.” He gestured to his motorcycle. “Let me help with that.”
A hollow ache expanded in my chest, tugging painfully in two directions—fear of stepping into the unknown, and a desperate need to escape everything familiar.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
When I opened them, Gabriel’s expression hadn’t changed. Still patient. Still steady. Still offering me a choice when today had taken every other choice away from me.
Slowly—terrifyingly slowly—I nodded. “Okay.”
His eyes flickered, almost like a spark caught light inside them. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’ll do it. I’ll help plan your holiday getaway.”
“Good.” Something eased in his posture. “You won’t regret it.”
I wasn’t sure about that.
But right now? I needed to move forward.
The ride to the Lune Noire estate felt like I had been dropped into someone else’s life.
The roads twisted through small French towns glittering with Christmas lights that mocked the remnants of my shattered holiday spirit. Gabriel rode steady, controlled, not a single reckless jerk of movement. Even through my helmet, the cold air sliced at my skin, but somehow the ride felt… cleansing.
We turned onto a private lane lined with tall fir trees dusted in frost. The deep rumbling of other engines grew louder the closer we got.
Then the estate appeared.
Lune Noire.
Rows of sleek black motorcycles glinted under the moonlight, each one unique but united by an unmistakable aura—dangerous, powerful, free. Men and women moved around the lot laughing, repairing bikes, smoking, talking. Leather jackets, steel chains, tattoos that looked like stories carved in skin.
I should’ve been intimidated.
Yet the strangest, warmest thing happened.
I felt safe.
As if the chaos here made more sense than the polite betrayal I’d just escaped.
Gabriel stopped the bike near one of the wooden cabins circling the main lodge. I climbed off carefully, legs shaky, breath forming small clouds in the cold night.
“This is yours for now,” he said, nodding at the cabin. “You can rest here. Warm up. Tomorrow, we’ll talk details.”
Tomorrow.
Christmas Eve had never felt so surreal.
“Thank you,” I murmured, hugging my coat tighter. “Really.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, studying me like he was cataloguing every crack I tried to hide. “You seem tired.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s… one word for it.”
“You’ve been through enough for one night.” His voice dropped, deep and sure. “Get some rest.”
Rest.
God, how long had it been since that felt like a possibility?
“Okay,” I said softly.
He stepped toward my suitcase on the back of the bike the same moment I did. His hand reached out. Mine reached out too.
And our fingers brushed.
It was a spark—warm, startling, and so sudden I froze, breath catching in my chest.
His gaze snapped to mine instantly.
The world went painfully still.
His fingers brushed again, accidental or not, I couldn’t tell and something inside me tightened, unfamiliar and unwelcome and terrifyingly alive.
I pulled my hand back a second too late.
But he’d already felt it.
And he didn’t look away.
The night around us buzzed with engines and laughter, but none of it reached me. Just his eyes. Just that touch. Just the sinking, terrifying awareness that I had stepped into something far bigger than a holiday escape.
Something that might swallow me whole.
- Writer
