Falling For My Ex's Dad (Clarissa and Gabriel) novel Chapter 149

Gabriel’s POV

Nicole startled, pulling away slowly, her eyes widening in confusion. "I’m only trying to protect you. You know I have your best interests at heart. I’d hate to see you waste your time on someone so… unworthy."

"I don’t care for your advice. Now get out."

She hesitated, then reached out again, brushing her fingers against my hand, her touch light, suggestive. "Oh, Gabriel, you're mad at the wrong person. I'm only here to help you see that Clairessa is conniving, vindictive. And she’s playing you."

I recoiled instantly, rage tightening my chest. I gripped her wrist tightly, my fingers biting into hers—intentional, meant to frighten her.

"Don’t you ever touch me without permission again."

"Mr... Storm, please let me—" she gasped, her eyes wide with panic as she tried to break my hold, but I didn’t budge, tightening my grip.

"Nicole, stay away from me. Stay away from Clairessa. And if you value your job, you will walk out of this office right now and never speak of this to anyone. Now get out."

"I apologize, sir…" she pleaded, her voice trembling as I finally released her arm. She massaged her wrist, staring at me like a helpless kitten before hurrying off.

"One more thing."

My voice, stern, stopped her in her tracks. She turned to me.

"Never call me by my first name again. It will always be Mr. Storm to you. The next time you make such an expensive mistake, I will see to it that you’re out of a job—not just here, but in the entire city. Is that clear?"

She nodded. "Yes… Mr. Storm," she stammered, scurrying out.

That was the first time I had seen her scared, and it felt good humbling her.

But once the door closed, every emotion I had tried to suppress—anger, disbelief, agony—came crashing down on me like a tidal wave.

"Fuck."

I slammed my hand against the desk, sending files scattering to the floor.

I needed to find out how long this had been going on.

How long she had been lying to me.

If it ever even stopped.

There was only one man I knew who could find anything—Clayton Pierce.

I scrolled through my contacts and dialed his number.

Clayton had been my private investigator for years, a former CIA operative with deep-rooted connections in intelligence and law enforcement. He was the kind of man who could dig up a person’s deepest secrets, leaving no stone unturned. If there was something to be found, he’d find it.

The line rang twice before a gruff yet familiar voice answered. "Storm."

"Clayton," I said, gripping the phone tighter. "I have a job for you."

He let out a small chuckle. "When do you not? What’s the assignment?"

I let out a strangled breath, running a hand down my face. "I’m sending you a picture. I need to know who this man is. Every single detail. I want his name, his background, where he works, where he lives, and most importantly—how long he and the lady in the picture have been seeing each other."

There was a brief pause before Clayton spoke. "This about a woman?"

And like a blind fucking fool, I had believed her. I threw caution to the wind, even when the signs were right in front of me.

She lied?

She never blocked him?

Now, it was all falling into place. The times she ignored my calls. The nights she was vague about where she was. And Daniel—fuck. She had lied about having lunch with him, too.

My chest ached with something dark and suffocating. I had given her everything, and she had played me all this time—fooling me with her innocent eyes and deceitful lips.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I saw was her. The first night we met, she had followed me to the lonely hallway, the way she had looked at me—seduced me with her soft, supple body, pressing herself deeper into me—begging me to touch her, to take her, to make her forget him…

My throat went dry as the truth hit me like a freight train.

That’s all I had been to her. A distraction. A way to forget the man she truly loved.

Fuck. She had used me as a rebound. Now, she had gone back to him.

I slammed my finger down on the send button, forwarding the image to Clayton, sealing whatever fate awaited the man in that picture.

Rage tore through me like wildfire—betrayal, pain, the overwhelming sense of being played. The woman I had let into my life after years of closing my heart off—the woman I love with every fiber of my being—had done this to me.

Now, she and the bastard she had been frolicking with would pay dearly.

Because I was certain the man in the photo was her ex... her lover. And I was going to prove it.