Chapter 5 External Storm

Morning arrives with a sense of expectation. I dress carefully, selecting a pale blue dress that Gabriel once mentioned brought out my eyes. The memory of last night's unexpected kiss lingers, a tactical advantage I intend to exploit fully.

When I enter the dining room, Gabriel is already there, studying a newspaper with unusual intensity. He looks up as I approach, his expression a complex mixture of resolve and uncertainty.

"Good morning," I say softly.

"Vivienne." He folds the paper, revealing the headline: "Sterling Institute Under Investigation for Financial Irregularities." Selene's work, no doubt.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, taking my seat.

"It will be." He pours coffee for both of us, his movements deliberate. "After breakfast, I'd like to take you somewhere. If you're willing."

"The truth you mentioned last night?"

He nods, eyes meeting mine briefly before looking away. "It's time you knew everything."

Mrs. Chen enters with breakfast trays, her usual stoic expression replaced by obvious concern. "Dr. Sterling, there's someone at the gate. He says he's an attorney."

Gabriel tenses. "Did he give a name?"

"Elias Ford. Says he has urgent business that can't wait."

The name means nothing to me, but Gabriel's reaction is immediate and alarming. He pales visibly, knuckles whitening around his coffee cup.

"Tell him I'm not available," he says tersely.

Mrs. Chen hesitates. "He was most insistent, sir. Said it concerns Ms. Hart's welfare."

At this, my interest sharpens. Someone outside these walls knows my name, is concerned for me. This could be an unexpected ally—or complication.

"Let him in," I say before Gabriel can respond. "If it concerns me, I should hear what he has to say."

Gabriel gives me a sharp look. "This isn't your decision to make, Vivienne."

"Isn't it?" I counter gently. "If what you said last night is true—about showing me the truth, about making things right—shouldn't that include allowing me to speak with someone concerned for my welfare?"

It's a calculated gamble, using his moment of vulnerability against him. For a tense moment, I think he'll refuse, reasserting his control. Then his shoulders slump slightly.

"Show him to my office," he tells Mrs. Chen. "We'll meet him there in fifteen minutes."

After she leaves, Gabriel turns to me, his expression grave. "Elias Ford is dangerous, Vivienne. Not physically, but he has... information. Information that could be harmful if not properly contextualized."

"What kind of information?"

"About us. About the Institute. About the circumstances that brought you here." He reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. "I promised you truth today, and you'll have it. But be careful with Ford. His agenda may not align with your best interests."

The warning intrigues me. What could this lawyer know that has Gabriel so concerned?

In Gabriel's office, Elias Ford awaits us—a lean man in his fifties with penetrating gray eyes and the watchful stillness of a predator. He rises as we enter, his gaze assessing me with unconcealed interest.

"Ms. Hart," he says, extending his hand. "A pleasure to finally meet you in person."

His words suggest prior knowledge of me, but his face is unfamiliar. I shake his hand, noting Gabriel's tension as I do so.

"What brings you here, Elias?" Gabriel asks, positioning himself subtly between us.

"Concern," Ford replies, reclaiming his seat. "The Sterling Institute board meeting yesterday was... illuminating. Selene March has made some troubling allegations about Ms. Hart's care."

"Selene has her own agenda," Gabriel dismisses. "Nothing she says about Vivienne should be taken at face value."

"Perhaps," Ford concedes. "But when those allegations include unlawful imprisonment and unauthorized experimental treatments, even the most skeptical authorities take notice."

My pulse quickens. Is this man truly here to help me, or is he part of a larger game I don't yet understand?

"That's absurd," Gabriel snaps. "Vivienne is here voluntarily for specialized treatment."

Ford turns to me directly. "Is that your understanding, Ms. Hart? That you're here voluntarily?"

Before I can answer, Gabriel interrupts. "Vivienne's mental state makes such questions complicated. Her perception of reality has been—"

"Let her speak for herself," Ford cuts in sharply.

Both men look at me expectantly. This moment requires delicate calculation. If I indicate I'm being held against my will, Ford might offer immediate assistance—potentially derailing my long-term plans for Gabriel. If I support Gabriel's narrative, I maintain control of my current situation but pass up a possible escape route.

"I came here originally for treatment," I say carefully. "The nature of that treatment has... evolved over time. There are aspects of my situation that are unclear to me."

"Meaning?" Ford presses.

"Meaning Gabriel has promised to explain everything today," I reply, glancing at Gabriel. "Including, I presume, why I haven't been permitted to leave these grounds in five years."

Ford's eyebrows rise. "Five years without leaving the property? That's concerning, to say the least."

Gabriel's jaw tightens. "Vivienne's condition makes public interactions dangerous—for her and potentially for others."

"What condition would that be, exactly?" Ford asks. "Because the medical records Selene provided show inconsistent diagnoses over the years, frequently changing to justify increasingly restrictive protocols."

"Those records were confidential," Gabriel snarls. "Selene had no right—"

"She had every legal right as CFO," Ford counters. "And a moral obligation, if she believed a patient was being mistreated."

The tension in the room is palpable. Gabriel looks on the verge of ordering Ford to leave, but something holds him back—perhaps the awareness that such an action would only confirm Ford's suspicions.

"What do you want, Elias?" Gabriel asks finally.

"Initially? To verify Ms. Hart's wellbeing and determine if intervention is necessary." Ford's gaze shifts between us. "But now I'm curious about what explanations you're planning to offer her today."

Gabriel rises abruptly. "That's between Vivienne and me."

"Not if those explanations are designed to further manipulate her perception," Ford argues. "Not if you're attempting to cover your tracks before the board's investigation reaches its conclusion."

"You have no authority here," Gabriel says coldly. "This is my home, and Vivienne is under my care."

"For now," Ford acknowledges, also standing. "But the legal landscape is shifting, Gabriel. Selene has powerful allies on the board, and they're concerned about more than financial irregularities. They're questioning your fitness to practice."

A flash of genuine fear crosses Gabriel's face—the first I've ever seen from him. "Get out."

Ford turns to me. "Ms. Hart, I'm leaving my card. If you need assistance—any assistance at all—please call. Day or night."

He places his business card on the desk. Gabriel doesn't move to intercept it, though I see the effort it costs him to restrain himself.

"One more thing," Ford adds, reaching into his briefcase. "This arrived at my office yesterday. It's addressed to you, Ms. Hart."

He hands me a small package wrapped in brown paper. Gabriel steps forward, but stops when Ford raises an eyebrow in warning.

"It's been screened for any dangerous materials," Ford assures us. "I'll see myself out."

After he leaves, Gabriel and I stand in silence, the package heavy in my hands.

"Open it," he says finally, voice tight with suppressed emotion.

I carefully unwrap the package to reveal a small wooden box. Inside, nestled on velvet, is a silver locket—identical to the one I planted in Gabriel's desk, but clearly authentic, aged with time.

"It can't be," Gabriel whispers, reaching for it with trembling fingers.

"What is it?" I ask, though I suspect I know.

"Elizabeth's locket. The one she was wearing when..." He can't finish the sentence. "How did Ford get this? It was buried with her."

I open the locket gently. Inside is a tiny photograph of a woman who does indeed bear a striking resemblance to me—same dark hair, similar features, though her eyes are different. Beside it is a lock of hair tied with silk thread.

"Who sent this?" Gabriel demands, suddenly fierce. "Who would do this?"

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. This development is not of my making, and it unsettles me. Someone else is playing games with Gabriel—someone with knowledge of his past and access to deeply personal artifacts.

Gabriel takes the locket, staring at the photograph with haunted eyes. "This changes everything," he murmurs. "We need to leave. Now."

"Leave? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe." His focus shifts, becoming razor-sharp. "Pack a small bag. Essentials only. We leave in thirty minutes."

"Gabriel, what's happening? You're frightening me." For once, my displayed fear is genuine.

He grasps my shoulders, his intensity overwhelming. "Someone is targeting us, Vivienne. The financial investigation, Ford's appearance, this locket—they're all connected. Someone wants to destroy me and is using you to do it."

The irony of his statement would be amusing if the situation weren't so volatile. "Why would anyone use me against you?"

"Because you're my weakness," he says simply. "You always have been."

Before I can process this admission, the mansion's security system blares to life—shrill, insistent alarms that make both of us start.

Gabriel rushes to his computer, pulling up security camera feeds. The main gate shows a black SUV that has rammed through the entrance. Three men in dark clothing emerge, moving with military precision toward the house.

"Who are they?" I ask, fear now entirely genuine.

"I don't know." Gabriel opens a desk drawer, removing a handgun. The sight of it shocks me—in five years, I've never seen him armed. "But they're not here for a friendly visit."

He checks the weapon with practiced ease, suggesting familiarity I wouldn't have expected from a psychiatrist. "Go to your room. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me."

"Gabriel—"

"Go!" he commands, but as I turn to leave, gunshots echo through the mansion. Gabriel pulls me down behind the desk as the office windows shatter.

"They're here for me," he says grimly. "But they'll take you too if they can. You know too much."

"I don't know anything!" I protest.

His laugh is bitter. "You know everything, Vivienne. You just don't remember."

More gunshots, closer now. Gabriel peers around the desk, then makes a decision. "There's a panic room behind the library. Third shelf from the right, pull the red leather volume of Shakespeare."

He helps me up, keeping low. "I'll create a diversion. Get to the panic room and stay there until I come for you."

"What if you don't come?" The question escapes before I can stop it.

His eyes meet mine, something raw and honest in them that I've never seen before. "Then use the emergency exit. It leads to a tunnel that comes out half a mile from the property. Ford's card is still on the desk. Call him."

"You'd trust me to call Ford?"

"I trust you to survive," he says fiercely. "Now go!"

He pushes me toward a side door that connects to the hallway. As I slip through, I hear him moving in the opposite direction, firing shots to draw attention away from me.

I run through the mansion's corridors, heart pounding. This wasn't part of my plan—armed intruders, panic rooms, Gabriel willing to risk himself to protect me. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Reaching the library, I locate the Shakespeare volume and pull it. The bookcase swings silently open, revealing a small, secure room equipped with monitors showing security feeds from throughout the property.

On one screen, I see Gabriel exchanging gunfire with the intruders in the main hall. He's outnumbered, but fighting with unexpected skill. On another, I spot Mrs. Chen being roughly handled by a fourth man I hadn't seen before.

My hand hovers over the panic room's door control. I could seal myself in, safe from the chaos outside. But the sight of Gabriel fighting—protecting me—stirs something unexpected.

Five years of planning my revenge, of hating this man who imprisoned me, and now I find myself unable to abandon him to these unknown assailants. Is it because my revenge isn't complete? Because I still need him? Or is it something else—something I'm not ready to acknowledge?

The decision made, I scan the panic room for weapons. A small cabinet yields another handgun, similar to Gabriel's. I check it as I've seen him do, finding it loaded and ready.

On the monitors, I see Gabriel take cover behind an overturned table as bullets pepper the wood. He's pinned down, ammunition clearly running low.

I should stay safe. I should let whatever is happening play out. But my feet are already carrying me back through the library, gun clutched in sweaty hands, toward the sound of gunfire and the man I've sworn to destroy.

Because if anyone is going to break Gabriel Sterling, it's going to be me—not some anonymous gunmen who've crashed their way into our twisted sanctuary.