Page 21 of His Untouchable Heart

Curtain thinks he has me trapped. He thinks he has all the leverage.

“But he doesn’t know who he is messing with,” I told myself as I gazed into the rearview mirror. “Not yet.”

I started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed home to my sister, but not before grabbing my phone and texting Anthony.

Gabrielle: I don’t know what it means either. But I wanted to see you too. Text me when you get to Dallas.

CHAPTERNINE

Anthony

By the time I brewed my first cup of coffee, preparing for work, the sun had already pierced through the glass. Dawn’s light stretched long and captivating, reflecting off the bay as if it held a secret. In the distance, the yachts in the marina shimmered, their white hulls catching fire in the morning’s radiant glow.

Cracking open the balcony door, I let the humid breeze roll in—thick with salt, heat, and something else I couldn’t quite name. The metal railing was cool beneath my arm as I leaned into it, coffee warming my hand, the restlessness in my chest refusing to budge.

Sleep had been scarce—maybe two hours at best—and even those were broken by dreams that scattered the moment I opened my eyes, leaving only Gabrielle’s name lingering like a whisper I couldn’t swallow. I pictured her already at the gallery, head down, poring over documents with that quiet intensity she carried like armor.

I’d been avoiding her. I told myself it was the right thing to do—that keeping my distance would protect both of us. Professionalism. Boundaries. All the self-righteous excuses that sounded good in theory and hollow in practice. But avoiding her hadn’t made the need go away. It had only sharpened it.

I checked my texts again, hoping for something from Gabrielle. Still blank. I didn’t blame her. I’d started this thing and then slammed the brakes without warning. She had every right to be furious. Or worse—indifferent.

My thumb hovered over the screen.

Can we talk?

Can I see you?

Hell, even good morning would’ve been something.

Buzz.

A new message flashed across the screen, sharp and uninvited.

Unknown number: Private meeting. My chambers. ASAP. Come alone.

— Judge Valencia

The pit in my stomach dropped like an anchor.

So this was it.

I tossed back the last of my coffee and reached for my wallet and keys.

He was about to confront me about that electrifying encounter with Gabrielle—the one that had been replaying in my mind with an intoxicating intensity for days on end. I couldn't shake the memory of her breath catching against my skin or how we both satisfied each other as if speaking would only ruin it further.

I already knew what I’d say if the meeting was about that. I’d make a deal—resign if I had to. Walk away from the foundation, the gallery, and the entire restitution effort. Whatever it took to ensure Gabrielle’s name wasn’t dragged through this.

I’d take the fall. She wouldn’t get burned for it. Not if I could help it.

It was a promise I’d already made in silence—one I intended to keep, no matter the cost.

And as I drove, that vow settled heavily on my shoulders, pressing down with each passing block.

Soon, the courthouse loomed in front of me like something carved out of permanence—white stone, high arches, and too many windows watching the world below. Inside, it was hotter than it had any right to be in Miami. The air-conditioning fought hard against the tropical heat, but it wasn’t just the temperature that made a bead of sweat form on my brow. It was the stillness. The kind that warned you to keep your voice down, to measure your words before you spoke them aloud.

I checked in at the security desk, was cleared without a word, and was escorted by a court officer down a long, sterile corridor. Our footsteps echoed with every step, the kind of sound that made you second-guess your guilt.

The deeper we went, the thicker the air felt. Like truth lived here, somewhere behind all these identical doors, and it wasn’t inclined to be merciful.

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