Raquela stood in front of them for a moment, looking around nervously, not knowing who to greet first. She forced a small, shy smile across her face, trying to hide her confusion, her eyes shifting quickly from one to the other.
"Come closer, little one... Don't be shy," Harry said softly as he stood up.
He extended his hand for her to shake.
His wife watched the scene with mixed eyes: jealousy, surprise, and suspicion she still didn't understand.
Rquela then remembered Gabriel's warnings before she went out to them... his words whispered in a mysterious tone, as if they held a hidden fire. Still, she couldn't refuse the handshake, so she politely extended her hand, smiling despite the tension that had begun to suffocate her.
But what happened wasn't what she had expected.
Harry didn't just shake her hand. He pulled her hand towards him, leaning in to place a soft kiss on the back of her hand… his eyes scanning her features with suspicious slowness.
Silence fell.
Amazement crept across faces… This wasn't a royal ceremony in Victoria that warranted such a gesture, especially with a girl as young as Raquela.
As for Gabriel… he nearly shattered the wine glass in his hand. His grip tightened until his knuckles were white, and his eyes glowed with anger.
Raquela quickly withdrew her hand, looking even more embarrassed and confused than before, and said in a low voice, "Nice to meet you, sir… I'm Raquela."
Yes, they had indeed met before…
But the man before her now wasn't the same man she'd seen in the car a moment earlier.
It was as if something was broken… or more than one soul lived inside him.
Raquel greeted everyone and sat next to Ramsay, with Gabriel to her right.
The usual family conversation took place, as boring as ever, while the two girls shut themselves off from the world, immersed themselves in Ramsay's phone, looking at photos of their schoolmates, and laughing lightly at each other's comments. Some even indulged in light teasing, chuckling and whispering.
As for Harry, despite his apparent preoccupation with talking to the others, his eyes would occasionally deliberately dart toward Raquel, observing the way she spoke, the bangs that fell softly over her eyes, and the small details about her that caught the eye without permission.
Gabriel noticed all of this.
He watched silently, anger simmering inside him... but he couldn't intervene, because she wasn't his... yet.
And stealing glances? Not a crime he could prevent.
Suddenly, silence fell, and Harry broke the silence with a tone that seemed to feign interest:
"So… Raquel, what year are you in? Tell us about yourself. All we know is that you're a friend of Ramsay's. Your presence here, to be honest… surprised me."
Raquel gave Gabriel a brief but profound look… as if to say silently:
"I understand what you're asking… but this is a direct question, one that can't be ignored."
But Elena saved the situation with her measured intervention, her goal clear… to distance Harry from Raquel and distract him with herself:
"She's in the same class as Ramsay. She's a nice, friendly girl, to be honest."
Gabriel added without looking up:
"That's right… always has been."
His words carried more than one meaning, as if they were directed at her alone:
"You've always been good… because you didn't answer him."
But Harry didn't give up.
He let his wife watch silently, with the expression of a woman who wasn't sure whether she was a stranger to this scene or a victim of it. As for him, he was insistent, trying somehow to get Raquel's attention... and no one knew why.
He said in a softer tone, "So... does Raquel have a hobby? A dream? Something special, maybe?"
At that, Raquel knew that escape was no longer an option.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tried to speak with a fake ease that masked her nervousness:
"Nothing interesting... honestly. I write... novels. And sometimes I like to design fashion... that's just what I know how to do and love."
Harry's wife smiled tenderly and said with sincere kindness, "That's nice. I also like to read. What kind of novels do you write?"
But Gabriel quickly interrupted her:
"Love... romantic novels"
Harry leaned back in his chair, a smirk forming on his lips. He knew the conversation was heading somewhere interesting.
"And how would you know that?"
Raquela felt trapped between two walls, silently wishing this wouldn't escalate into conflict… because of her.
Gabriel, however, answered with a calm tone that sounded far too confident:
"I read one of her novels… I didn't know she was the author, honestly. But I liked the style."
Raquela's eyes widened in shock.
She knew he was lying.
She hadn't wanted him to do that—what if they asked for the title? What if he made one up and got caught?
Then came the unexpected…
Elena, wiping tomato sauce from her lips, chimed in with a light laugh:
"Really? Without telling me? Tell me the title—whatever my husband reads, I read too! Haha. I must check it out."
That was it.
The moment Raquela had feared… had arrived.
She looked at Gabriel, her face a mix of embarrassment and disbelief.
But he didn't back down.
Instead, he offered her a faint, reassuring smile, then turned to Elena and said confidently:
"A novel called Time Repeats Itself... featuring a character named Jack Fran."
But the surprising part was… the name was real.
Raquela had indeed written a novel a year ago titled "Time Repeats Itself", and its main character was named Jack.
Yet, for her, Gabriel knowing about her stories felt worse than him not knowing at all.
At that moment, she wished he had made up a name—any name—instead of revealing the truth.
She stared down at the dishes in front of her, trying to escape the thoughts racing through her mind.
How did he find out?
She had never shared her stories on social media.
She had never revealed her identity as the author—not even to her closest friends.
So how… how did he get access to them?
A quiet panic began to settle in her chest.
Not just because he had read one story...
But because she had written others—
stories that were darker, more romantic,
stories that, if he ever read them,
he might never look at her the same way again.