Page 74 of Lethal Infatuation

TWENTY EIGHT

Ever since our last conversation, Nicolas stayed true to his word and kept a close eye on me. Which was only while I worked, because I spent most of my free time with him.

I tried not to think about the massive bomb he dropped on me the other night, because he promised that he'd keep me safe.

His mere presence was intimidating. I noticed that he only displayed his soft side when he was around me, so I couldn't imagine how outsiders must've felt whenever they saw him.

Especially individuals who threatened the people he held dear to him.

He seemed like he definitely wouldn't be doing much talking. He'd probably beat the shit out of them, and that's me putting it lightly. I walked out of my office building, looking around for Nicolas' car which was parked across the street.

The cool breeze blew against my skin andI inhaled deeply as I walked towards the vehicle. Nicolas immediately climbed out, stepping closer. "Is everything okay?" he asked, probably noticing the look on my face.

"Yes." I brushed it off. "Everything's fine." I was about to walk to the passenger side when he grabbed my wrist and pulled me flush against him. When our bodies collided I gasped, looking up at him.

"I don't like being lied to, sweetheart. You should already know this," he said darkly. "And right now, that's exactly what you're doing."

I gripped the handle of my bag tightly in my left hand. "Everything is fine, Nicolas." The last thing I wanted to do right now was discuss the issues I had with my mother.

"Try again." I sighed, rolling my eyes at him. "That attitude of yours needs to be worked on." He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I can and will stand here all day if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"You're so persistent," I huffed. "Okay, fine. Can we at least get the in the car first?" He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Very well then, but if you don't uphold your end of this agreement, I'll grab that pretty your neck of yours and pull you out of this car. Understood?"

"No need to be so violent." I laughed softly. He smiled at me and slowly released me from his firm grip.

Once we were inside of the car and we were buckled up, I turned to look at him. "It's my mother," I said, sighing softly. "A few weeks ago, she reached out to me after years of no contact." Nicolas started the car and stepped on the gas, slowly driving off.

I could tell by the look on his face that he hadn't expected the conversation to go in this direction. "It's okay, we don't have to talk about it," he offered.

"No," I replied almost instantly, fidgeting with my necklace. "Iwant to." I swallowed hard, trying to reel in my emotions. "My parents got divorced when I was thirteen and my mother forced me to choose sides. At that time, I didn't know any better so I chose her."

Nicolas' grip on the steering wheel tightened and his jaw ticked. "Despite everything she put me through mentally and emotionally," I said softly, "I chose her because I thought it was the right thing to do. She's my mom, why wouldn't I choose to stay with her?"

He reached over, placing his hand on my thigh and rubbed circles on the flesh with his thumb. "I soon realised that it was a huge mistake on my part, and two years later, I finally had the courage to contact my father."

My voice was shaky and I didn't understand why. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I never shared anything about my life with anyone other than my close friends.

"She was manipulative, arrogant, a tyrant. She tried to control everything I did and constantly made me feel worthless. She told me women were only meant to be wives and mothers. We shouldn't have dreams, goals, ambitions, or our own careers. We should just work towards becoming somebody's wife and then inevitably being a mother."

Nicolas' grip on my thigh tightened and I looked down at his hand. "Take your time," he reassured me.

"Being an event coordinator wasn't my first choice. I wanted to study law because I've always dreamed of becoming a lawyer. Fighting for what I believed was right, fighting for people who couldn't fight for themselves. That was my dream. Of course, my mother disapproved. She told me I wasn't smart enough to study, wasn't good enough, would never amount to anything."

"Jesus fuck," Nicolas muttered under his breath.

I chuckled at his response, placing my hand on top of his. "This mental abuse started when I was about eight or so. My grades werenever good enough, my hair was too curly, but if I straightened it, then it didn't suit my facial features. Everything I did always seemed subpar in her eyes."

I paused, inhaling slowly before exhaling. "My father, on the other hand, always encouraged me, motivated me, reassured me. He's the one who taught me how to ride a motorcycle." I smiled at the memory. "Obviously, my mother didn't approve. Riding a motorcycle certainly wasn't ladylike. No man would ever want a woman who participated in those activities."

Now that I spoke about it aloud, I realised how bad my mom treated me. "My father taught me how I should be treated, and when I was fifteen, I moved in with him. Only then did I discover the reason why they got a divorce."

Nicolas only nodded, silently encouraging me to continue. "She aimed to be a housewife and he didn't agree with that. He told her that it was important for a woman to have a form of independence, because anything could happen and solely depending on someone else to sustain you wasn't a wise choice."

I shook my head. "Christina couldn't fathom that her husband wouldn't let her quit her day job, which was for her own benefit, mind you. My dad spent years trying to undo the damage my mother caused. I was always self-conscious, self-doubtful, had low self-esteem and even when I was given the opportunity to study, I chose a career path I wasn't passionate about."

We pulled up to his house and the gates opened. Once the car was parked, he turned to look at me. "I'm truly sorry you experienced that, Gabriella," he grimaced. "No child should ever experience that kind of treatment, especially from their parent."

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