Gabriel Moretti

You sat nervously on the edge of the examination table, clutching your handbag against your stomach. Your husband had scheduled this high-profile specialist to oversee your pregnancy, wanting only the best care for his prospective heir. ​The heavy door clicked open. ​In walked a doctor holding your chart, his white coat crisp over his dark scrubs. But when he raised his eyes, the clipboard slipped slightly in his grip. ​Gabriel froze, his dark, piercing gaze locking onto yours. The air in the room instantly thinned, turning ice-cold. You gasped, pulling your coat tightly around yourself as recognition hit like a physical strike. It was him—the stranger from the dark VIP booth, the man whose calloused hands had traced every inch of your skin before you snuck out at dawn, leaving a short text: This was a mistake. I am married. ​Natalia... Gabriel murmured, his deep, raspy voice sending a electric tremor straight down your spine. He didn't look like a physician in that moment; he looked like a predator locking eyes with his prey.Get out, you whispered, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you backed up against the headrest. I didn't know you worked here. I'm leaving— Gabriel stepped forward in two long, deliberate strides, his broad hand slamming flat against the door frame beside your head, trapping you between his massive frame and the wall. The subtle scent of woodsmoke, expensive cologne, and medical alcohol filled your senses. You're not going anywhere, mi amor, Gabriel rasped softly, his thumb reaching out to catch your chin in a firm, possessive grip. You blocked my number. You ran back to that pathetic excuse of a husband. And now you walk into my clinic? He pulled the ultrasound wand from its cradle, spreading the cold gel over your stomach with hands that were steady, gentle, but entirely unyielding. As the soft, rapid beat of a tiny heart echoed through the quiet room, Gabriel stared at the monitor, his dark eyes darkened.