Chapter 122 - The Man in the Shadows

Miguel has turned off his phone, seemingly for a long time, yet he's still standing there, in the dark. He touches his chin—the pain shoots through his brain. His face had hit the concrete floor hard when Claire kicked him in the groin, and he's sure it's going to bruise badly. It was not very noticeable on FaceTime, but tomorrow at lunch, if he has the balls to attend it, Gabriel would notice it and ask questions.

He's standing on the sidewalk. He looks behind him, as the entrance door of the building swings open. Miguel steps back into the shadows as he sees Dale, the general manager of The Residence, Claire's lavish home, stepping out to speak to the door man. Miguel quietly watches them. He must not be seen. He doesn't really want to freak her out. But there's something about his feelings for her that makes him do things he would never have done in a million lifetimes—and yet here he is, there he was, acting like a mad man. Is he really going down this slippery slope?

Miguel actually shakes his head, as though he's trying to resist his personal demons. I don't like this, he tells himself. I don't like where I'm headed to. But there's something about this entire drama. His life feels like a train wreck ever since he first saw her. The truth is, he wants to hate her—if he can't love her, then maybe doing the exact opposite thing would help him forget about her. But it's so hard to hate her when all she seems to be doing is trying to be reasonable. She didn't even tell on him. Miguel saw on her face how she was on the verge of confessing everything to Gabriel, how she struggled, and how, in the end, she decided not to tell Gabriel. Maybe to save his relationship with his brother. Claire saving his relationship with his brother—when it is he who should be doing all the saving by letting Claire go and moving on.

And now, as if to make things worse, he's stalking her here. What is he planning to do by hiding in the darkness, waiting for her car to arrive? He's not even sure if she'd go home tonight—from the looks of it, Gabriel would not let her go, not tonight, not after what Miguel had seen, that kind of intimacy, that neediness. And yet. More and more, Miguel seems to be operating on impulse; it seems he has ceased to think with his big head.

***

Meanwhile, Claire was serious. She really did call it a night, but not after making sure that Gabriel has taken all his meds and made him promise to stop acting like a petulant child and do what's necessary.

"I have to be blunt with you, Gab," she had said before she left. "You can't go into another stupid coma again, understand? Or else I will kill you."

Gabriel laughed and gave her a deep, wet kiss that dripped with longing. "I will never ever leave you," he said. And that was enough; his words were enough. Gabriel's actual words, uttered out in the open, are more powerful than whatever unspoken thing they used to have.

"Good," she said then. Then tucked him in like he's her child. A big man-baby. But Claire doesn't mind; he'd rather have a thousand man-babies like Gabriel in her life, than contemplate living without him.

Dean, her chauffeur, was probably not expecting that Claire would actually leave Gabriel that night. He probably thought the Big Boss would want to "cash in" tonight. So he was surprised when Claire called him up to tell him she's already in the lobby, waiting for him.

"Sorry, Miss Claire," he says as he opens the car door for her. "I thought you'd spend the night here."

"I thought so, too," she says, but leaves it at that. She's too tired to even attempt an explanation.

When you think of it, she's had a really long and really bad day. She wonders if there's anyone else out there who also had to endure a day like hers. And the resolution she had been hoping for upon speaking to Gabriel did not materialize. Did she make a mistake? Was it wrong not to tell him, right when she had the perfect chance, right when Miguel was there on the iPad? It should have been the next best thing to an actual physical confrontation, right? But no, she had to chicken out. She had to tell herself, Perhaps next time. Not now. Not during this otherwise perfect moment.

So now, being driven home, Claire's heart feels like bursting. How much she'd love to tell Gabriel everything, if only Miguel were like some employee, like Jake Magno. If only he was not her boyfriend's only brother. So what should she do? How does she fend off Miguel's advances? What if he tries to do it again, pouncing on her with her back on the wall? What if she would not be so lucky next time? Claire feels like crying. A tear actually pops out of a corner of her eye. A tear drop that soon becomes a rivulet of bitterness coursing down her cheeks. It was not until she sniffled that Dean looks up and gazes at her on the rear-view mirror.

"Oh, my God, Miss Claire, are you okay?"

Claire rifles through her handbag and locates a handkerchief. She blows her nose into it. "I'm fine, Dean. Don't mind me. I just feel like being dramatic tonight."

Dean gazes at her meaningfully. He wasn't born yesterday. He knows that when a woman leaves a man's house in the middle of the night, it could only have been caused by a fight. He knows the Big Boss could sometimes be difficult, although he also knew Gabriel has softened a great deal ever since he met this woman. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Thank you."

Dean sighs. "It will pass," he says. "I know Gabriel. I know when something is true about him. And I know what he feels for you is true. Maybe it was just the meds."

Claire could explain that this isn't about that. But maybe she should spare Dean from all her personal troubles. Her chauffeur does not need someone else's drama tonight.

"I know," she says. "I'm just venting out. But truly I'm fine." She tries to smile. Then she blows her nose into the handkerchief one last time. "I'm just looking forward to a peaceful, restful night."

"Aren't we all?" Dean says. He smiles, too.

As the car eases into the foyer of The Residence, they do not notice the man standing by the curb. When Claire steps out of the car, the man also steps back into the shadows, observing her, like a predator upon his prey.

***

Miguel's heart jumps in his throat. He's overcome with mixed emotions upon seeing Claire—she looks so sad and beautiful. "I'm sad, too," he whispers to no one. "Maybe it is our mutual fate to endure this interminable sadness."

Miguel's plan is having no plan at all. But his car, parked inconspicuously nearby, is ready. Aren't you just so unstoppable, the voice in his head says. Nothing can stop you. You feel like doing something, you actually do it, Migs, my man! They should give you an award or something!

Claire emerges from the car like she has the world on her shoulders. She walks quietly toward the entrance door step by measured step, as though deep in thought.

Miguel also, slowly, emerges from the shadows. He could grab Claire, maybe whisper threats in her ear to make her shut up. Maybe because of what happened earlier today, there's no fight left in her, and this would be easy now. Just maybe. One won't know until one tries it out.

Soundlessly, Miguel approaches from behind her, his entire being burning with dėsɨrė, every part of him ready to find fruition to his wildest dream. He's only a few steps behind her. One quick movement and she would—

"Miss Claire," Dean's voice calls up from behind them, and instantly, Miguel changes course, acting like some random passerby.

Dean jogs up to her, a piece of white cloth in his hand. "You left this in the car," Dean says.

Claire looks at it and shrieks like a small girl. "Oh, my God, Dean, that's the handkerchief I blew my nose into! That's full of my snot!"

Dean laughs, but he doesn't seem to mind. He even solemnly hands over her handkerchief, which is already properly folded. "I thought you don't want to lose it."

Claire's face is beet red in embarrassment as she takes it. For a moment she forgot about how crappy the day had been. "I'm sorry for being so careless, but thanks so much, Dean."

Dean makes a mock salute then he leaves.

"Oh, there you are, Miss Claire."

It's Dale, still snappy as ever, opening the entrance door as wide as possible.

"Good evening, Dale. You don't know how glad I am to see you."

Confusion passes on Dale's face. "What do you—"

He never finishes his word as Claire falls on him in a desperate embrace, and begins sobbing in his ċhėst.

If Dale is mortified or confused, he does not show it. He instantly ȧssumed the "shoulder-to-cry-on" role as he shepherds Claire inside, all ready to hear whatever she has to spill out tonight. And something tells him it's going to be a long night. He did not even notice the man standing outside, his hands in his pockets, staring at them, completely unmoving. After a long moment, the man leaves in big, angry steps, heading toward God-knows-where.