ONE FIFTY SEVEN
Gael sat rigidly, the phone clutched tightly in his grip, his fingers wrapped around it like a lifeline, like if he just held onto it tight enough, it would somehow give him control over the situation unraveling before him. But it wouldn't. It couldn't. I could see the battle waging in his eyes, the quick flickers of thought running behind them; options, risks, calculations, the way he was weighing it all, thinking through the potential consequences of both holding onto it and handing it over. Seven point two million. That was what had flashed on the screen. That was what had sent a bolt of something sharp and dangerous through the room, something neither of us had been expecting.
I barely saw the movement. It was quick, fluid, practiced. One second Dominic was simply standing there, hand extended, and the next the gun was pressed firmly against Gael’s forehead, the click of the trigger the only sound cutting through the thick, pulsing silence. My stomach dropped, dread curling hot and sick in my gut, my breath catching in my throat as I tensed, trying not to react too strongly, trying not to let the fear I felt manifest in any way that could make this worse. Gael’s entire body went rigid, his chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths, his fingers flexing ever so slightly around the phone, as if his grip tightening could somehow protect him from the bullet that could very easily rip through his skull if Dominic decided he had lost patience. His eyes flicked to me, quick, uncertain, as if looking for an answer, for a way out, for something to tell him this wasn’t going to end with his brains splattered across the couch. I had nothing to give him.
Dominic didn’t move, didn’t shift his stance, didn’t even blink, and that scared me more than the gun itself. He was calm. Not just composed, but completely, utterly calm, like he had already decided how this was going to end, like the next few seconds wouldn’t determine Gael’s fate because Dominic had already chosen what Gael’s fate would be. And that fate depended entirely on whether or not he let go of the damn phone.
"You were thinking about it," Dominic murmured, his voice so soft, so even, so devastatingly quiet that it somehow made the tension worse, made the room feel colder. Gael's lips parted slightly, like he wanted to deny it, like he wanted to shake his head, to argue, to insist he wasn’t, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. And Dominic knew that.
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was still low, but there was an edge now, the slightest shift in his tone, the kind of quiet sharpness that sent a fresh wave of fear curling down my spine. “I can see it. You were thinking about it. Running the numbers. Seven point two. That’s a lot of money, isn’t it?” He let the words settle, let them stretch, let them sink in before continuing, tilting his head just slightly as his grip on the gun remained unwavering. “It’s a life. A fresh start. A way out. For you.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into the fabric of my pants, my body stiff against the couch. The air was so thick, so unbearably heavy, I could feel my lungs straining under the weight of it. I wanted Gael to let go of the phone. I needed him to. But I knew how stubborn he was in just a few hours of knowing him. Knew that even with a gun to his head, he hated the idea of being controlled, of being forced into submission, and that fear and defiance were currently battling for dominance inside him. I wanted to say something, wanted to urge him to just do it, to just let go, to just stop testing Dominic’s patience because I could see—in the slight twitch of his jaw, in the way his breath grew more measured—that Dominic was dangerously close to making a decision that couldn’t be undone.
The second stretched unbearably long. Then another. Then another, each one making my skin crawl with the suffocating anxiety of what might happen next. The room was so quiet I could hear the distant hum of traffic outside, the faint creak of the old house settling, the muted rustling of tree branches scraping against the window. The sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the kitchen, marking the long, agonizing seconds.
Gael’s fingers twitched.
And then, slowly, finally, he loosened his grip, his body slumping just slightly, as though some invisible force inside him had cracked. The phone slipped from his hand into Dominic’s waiting palm.
I let out a shaky breath.
Dominic took it without another word, slipping it into his pocket as smoothly as if this entire thing had been an effortless, natural sequence of events. His fingers brushed absently against the grip of his gun before he finally lowered it, but I knew it wasn’t over. Not really. Not in the way that mattered.
He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he said, “Isabella’s is already with me. The doors are locked. The keys are with me. In case either of you decide to do anything funny before morning.”
Gael didn’t say a word. He just stood, exhaling slowly, and without looking at either of us, started toward the hallway.
I hesitated. I didn’t want him to leave like this. Didn’t want the last thing in the air between us to be the sharp imprint of a gun against his skin. So, before he vanished into the dimness, before he disappeared completely, I forced my voice to work.
“Please keep our secret.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t nod. Didn’t turn back.
And then he was gone.
The living room felt cavernous in the quiet he left behind.
I curled in on myself, wrapping my arms around my knees, pressing my forehead against them as the weight of everything pressed down on me. I glanced up once, watching Dominic standing there, motionless, his head tilted downward, eyes locked on his own feet as if they held the answers to questions I didn’t know how to ask.
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