Falling For My Ex's Dad (Clarissa and Gabriel) novel Chapter 149

Gabriel’s POV

Nicole startled, pulling away slowly, her eyes widening in confusion. "I’m only trying to protect you. You know I have your best interests at heart. I’d hate to see you waste your time on someone so… unworthy."

"I don’t care for your advice. Now get out."

She hesitated, then reached out again, brushing her fingers against my hand, her touch light, suggestive. "Oh, Gabriel, you're mad at the wrong person. I'm only here to help you see that Clairessa is conniving, vindictive. And she’s playing you."

I recoiled instantly, rage tightening my chest. I gripped her wrist tightly, my fingers biting into hers—intentional, meant to frighten her.

"Don’t you ever touch me without permission again."

"Mr... Storm, please let me—" she gasped, her eyes wide with panic as she tried to break my hold, but I didn’t budge, tightening my grip.

"Nicole, stay away from me. Stay away from Clairessa. And if you value your job, you will walk out of this office right now and never speak of this to anyone. Now get out."

"I apologize, sir…" she pleaded, her voice trembling as I finally released her arm. She massaged her wrist, staring at me like a helpless kitten before hurrying off.

"One more thing."

My voice, stern, stopped her in her tracks. She turned to me.

"Never call me by my first name again. It will always be Mr. Storm to you. The next time you make such an expensive mistake, I will see to it that you’re out of a job—not just here, but in the entire city. Is that clear?"

She nodded. "Yes… Mr. Storm," she stammered, scurrying out.

That was the first time I had seen her scared, and it felt good humbling her.

But once the door closed, every emotion I had tried to suppress—anger, disbelief, agony—came crashing down on me like a tidal wave.

"Fuck."

I slammed my hand against the desk, sending files scattering to the floor.

I needed to find out how long this had been going on.

How long she had been lying to me.

If it ever even stopped.

There was only one man I knew who could find anything—Clayton Pierce.

I scrolled through my contacts and dialed his number.

Clayton had been my private investigator for years, a former CIA operative with deep-rooted connections in intelligence and law enforcement. He was the kind of man who could dig up a person’s deepest secrets, leaving no stone unturned. If there was something to be found, he’d find it.

The line rang twice before a gruff yet familiar voice answered. "Storm."

"Clayton," I said, gripping the phone tighter. "I have a job for you."

He let out a small chuckle. "When do you not? What’s the assignment?"

I let out a strangled breath, running a hand down my face. "I’m sending you a picture. I need to know who this man is. Every single detail. I want his name, his background, where he works, where he lives, and most importantly—how long he and the lady in the picture have been seeing each other."

There was a brief pause before Clayton spoke. "This about a woman?"

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