Page 19 of Protected By Her Daddy

“See that couple over there?”

Gabriel’s question pulls me from my impending sugar coma. I follow his gaze to the window as a pair of joggers pass outside.

“They run this path every morning. Rain or shine.”

I crack a smile, impressed. “You spend a lot of time watching strangers?”

“Observation is key in my line of work. You pick up on patterns. Routines.”

“Sounds like a superpower,” I joke.

“Maybe it is.” He winks, and for a moment, I forget about the darkness that brought me to him.

Our conversation is light as we drink our coffee and finish the bun. I notice Luther and Ethan mingling with the crowds behind us as we leave the cozy café and head back to Gabriel’s building.

“Fancy a tour?” he asks as we reach the modern high-rise. “Unless you’re too tired?”

“No, I’m good. I’d love that.”

Gabriel signals for Luther and Ethan to leave us and gestures for me to follow him. I’m struck again by the sleek, modern design as we enter the lobby. Everything gleams, from the polished marble floors to the tinted glass walls that reveal a glimpse of the city outside. It's a place that exudes power and efficiency, much like the man walking beside me.

“This way,” he says, leading me toward a set of double doors at the back of the lobby. “I figured you should get to know the place since you’ve been here almost a month.”

We pass through the doors into a wide hallway, the soft hum of air conditioning filling the silence. The first stop is an office area, where employees work diligently at their desks, the atmosphere focused but not tense. Gabriel nods at a few people as we walk by, and they greet him with the kind of respect that suggests they hold him in high regard but aren't afraid of him.

“This is where most of the day-to-day operations happen,” he explains. “Marketing, finance, human resources. The backbone of the company.”

I nod, taking in the spacious layout and the state-of-the-art equipment. “It’s impressive,” I admit. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Wait until you see the rest,” he replies with a knowing smile.

We continue down the hallway, passing a series of glass-walled conference rooms, each equipped with large screens and sleek furniture. Gabriel briefly explains their purpose—team meetings, client presentations, brainstorming sessions. He doesn’t linger on the business aspects, perhaps sensing that it might overwhelm me.

Next, he leads me to a set of stairs, taking them down to a lower level. The air here is cooler, with a faint aroma of antiseptic that tickles my nose. The smell stirs my senses with fractured memories of being brought here the night I was stabbed.

“You okay?” Gabriel asks, noticing my shiver.

“Yeah, just remembering that night in the alley.”

Gabriel’s large hand swallows mine. “I’ve got you,” he says, his tone steady and reassuring.

Still holding my hand, he pushes open another door, revealing a pristine medical facility. “This is where Dr. Sanderson and his medical teamwork. We have a fully equipped medical suite—everything from routine checkups to emergency care.”

I glance around, my eyes widening at the sight of the modern medical equipment. “Jeez, this is incredible. You really do have everything here, don’t you?”

“Almost,” he admits, a hint of pride in his voice. “I like to be prepared.”

It’s more than being prepared. Gabriel has created a world within these walls, a place where he can control every variable, ensuring that nothing is left to chance.

We move on, returning to the main level and taking another elevator up. This time, we stop on a floor that smells faintly of delicious food. My stomach growls despite the huge amount I’ve already consumed this morning.

Gabriel chuckles, obviously hearing it. “I’m guessing the smell gave this one away,” he says as we step into a large kitchen area.

It’s more like a high-end restaurant than anything else, with stainless steel counters, professional-grade ovens, and an array of cooking tools I couldn’t even name. Staff bustle around, and a tall man in a crisp white chef’s coat is busy at one of the stations, his back to us.

“Wren, meet Chef Étienne,” Gabriel says, raising his voice slightly. “He’s the genius who prepares all our meals.

The chef turns, and I’m greeted by a warm smile and a friendly nod. “Ah, Miss Wren, good to finally meet you,” he says in a thick French accent.

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