Chapter 192
Chapter 192:
The more Gabriela thought about it, the hotter her anger burned. She had stumbled into the wrong room once—and she’d been drunk. She had never wanted to sleep with Brenden. Did Wesley really need to torment her like this?
Her frustration boiled over. Seething, she flopped onto the bed, flailing her arms and legs in exasperation.
Then a strange sensation swept over her. The air carried a faint trace of alcohol, mingled with the unmistakable presence of another person. Someone was in the room.
Her pulse spiked. She snapped on the bedside lamp and turned her head—only to find Wesley lying on the other side of the bed. Her stomach dropped. Instinct screamed at her to run. What if Wesley believed she had deliberately entered his room?
She bolted toward the door—then froze at a soft groan, heavy with discomfort. Loretta had mentioned Wesley hadn’t been feeling well in recent days.
𝗣𝘰pu𝗅𝗮𝘳 s𝘵o𝘳і𝗲𝘴 o𝘯
Gabriela hesitated. Even though she was furious with him for playing the role of “NotASaunders,” he had been kind to her. He had secured her future with a generous advance—ten years’ worth of salary—giving her the confidence to stand her ground against Phyllis and Marie. To her, Wesley was far more than just an employer.
Wesley shifted again, a low, pained sound escaping his lips.
Gabriela bit her lip, concern slowly overtaking her simmering anger. She stepped closer and asked softly, “Mr. Moss, are you okay p>
There was no reply.
She climbed onto the bed and gave him a careful push. “Mr. Moss, are you feeling unwell p>
Even through the thin fabric of his white shirt, she felt an intense heat radiating from him. Alarm prickled through her, and she quickly reached out to touch his forehead. It was burning.
A fever?
Yet his condition didn’t match the usual signs. Could it be…
Her mind flashed to the picture of the wine glass, the faint aroma of alcohol still lingering in the air, and she drew her conclusion—Wesley was drunk.
The possibility left her at a loss for words. She hadn’t even been here for a week, and already she had discovered just how peculiar this family could be. Loretta clung to strangely old-fashioned beliefs, Brenden might have a split personality, and Wesley—well, he was not interested in women. And yet, despite knowing he had a heart condition, he still chose to get drunk at night.
The wealthy truly seemed to have a reckless love for danger.
With a resigned sigh, Gabriela decided to fetch a towel to cool him down. Before doing that, she tried the door, but—just as she expected—it was locked from the outside.
Another sigh escaped her. She would have to tell Loretta, plainly and directly, that Wesley’s disinterest in women wasn’t something she could fix. Even if they were locked in together for ten days, it wouldn’t make a difference.
Settling beside Wesley, she pulled out her phone and began recording. “Mr. Moss, you’re drunk right now, and the door’s locked, so I can’t leave. I’m only here to take care of you, not because I snuck in p>
Once she had her video evidence, Gabriela set to work, gently wiping Wesley’s face. His brow stayed tightly furrowed. He was in clear discomfort, his body burning with heat. Then the soft press of the warm towel against his forehead seemed to ease him, like a calming balm reaching his very core.
Suddenly, his hand shot up, gripping the slender wrist that held the towel. His eyes opened—dark, deep, and more intense than the night beyond the window—glimmering with a dangerous edge.
Gabriela froze. “Mr. Moss, you’re awake. I didn’t sneak in p>
Fresh from her shower, the faint fragrance of her skin and hair drifted into Wesley’s senses, breaking his last shred of restraint. In one swift motion, he rolled over, pinning her beneath him, his grip on her hand unyielding. Her fingers, still caught in his grasp, brushed against the cold metal of his belt buckle as he moved. Gabriela was utterly stunned.