Page 27 of His Untouchable Heart

I froze. Juliette’s gaze flicked to me, but she didn’t ask. I turned the phone over, expecting a text.

It wasn’t a message. It was a call.

Anthony.

I answered quickly. “Hello?”

“Gabrielle.” His voice was low, tight. The urgency in it sent a jolt through me. “You need to come to Dallas. Tonight.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“I can’t explain over the phone. I’ve arranged a private jet—it’s leaving at midnight. I’ll text you the terminal. Don’t use anything through the foundation. No hotels, no car service, nothing they booked.”

“Anthony, what’s going on?” I stood, pressing a hand to my chest as if that might slow my heartbeat. “You’resending a jet?”

Across from me, Juliette straightened in her seat, eyes wide with concern. I couldn’t tell if she was more surprised by the jet or the way my voice cracked.

“Who’s paying for this?” I asked.

“I’ll explain everything when you get here,” he said. “Just get on that plane.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone slowly, like it might burn me.

Juliette set her wine down. “Well?”

“He’s sending a private jet,” I said. “I’m supposed to leave tonight.”

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t say just that I need to avoid foundation channels. Hotels. Travel. Everything.”

My sister didn’t speak right away. Then she gave a slow, careful nod, her expression tightening as if she was piecing together a puzzle neither of us had all the corners for.

I picked up my glass and drifted toward the window, the cool pane meeting my fingertips as I stared down at the street. My reflection hovered in the glass—tense posture, pale face, tired eyes—and something softer beneath all of it I hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

“I hope Anthony is safe,” I whispered. “And maybe while I’m in Dallas… he’ll finally let me in. Not just about this mess—but about everything.”

CHAPTERELEVEN

Anthony

The cursor blinked patiently on the screen. I sat in my room at the Dallas Hilton in nothing but my underwear, one hand on the trackpad, the other resting on my knee, the promise of a hot shower lingering in the back of my mind. My eyes stayed fixed on the wordsActivate Card, daring me to click.

It looked simple enough—a financial tool tied to a credit line I never asked for but was assured belonged to me. Charlotte’s attorney had handled everything with his usual precision, down to the signature card I’d signed a few months ago. Still, I hadn’t touched it.

Charlotte's death had been sudden—a jet ski accident followed by a whirlwind of arrangements and cremation. A few thousand dollars covered her final expenses, and I spent the remainder on much-needed suits and some fancy wine I hadn’t dared to open. The rest of the inheritance, billions from her grandparents' garment empire, remained untouched in trusts I never knew existed. Charlotte had never mentioned this wealth during our relationship or brief marriage. We were partners, yet she concealed something so significant.

I felt a mix of anger over her deception and frustration that she died before I could confront her. Now, for the first time, I considered using the card.

All because of Gabrielle. I had to protect her.

I leaned back, still shirtless, my hand rubbing across my jaw. The tile floor chilled my bare feet, but my mind stayed fixed on her voice from that last call—steady, too composed, like she was holding it together for me. Like she was used to being alone when she shouldn't be. That hit me harder than I expected. Gabrielle wasn’t just sharp, beautiful, or damn good at her job—she was also brave. Braver than I’d been since losing Charlotte. She never asked for anything, which made me want to give her everything.

I stepped into the shower, letting the water pound against my skin while steam curled around me. As I lathered and rinsed, my thoughts kept circling the same point: we couldn’t stay here. Not at this hotel. The foundation had booked it, but it was too exposed, too easy to trace. And I didn’t know who I could trust yet—not with Gabrielle’s safety, and definitely not with mine.

I shaved at the sink, watching the fog clear from the mirror with each swipe of the towel. A clean face. A new start. Maybe.

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