When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 59: One Step Too Far

Chapter 59: One Step Too Far

Emily considered it, tilting her head as she glanced at the door, then back to him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes, I’m sure." Gabriel’s heart raced as he waited to see which way this would go.

To his relief, Emily nodded. She faltered for a bit before mussing up her hair and smudging her lipstick. Next, she looked at Gabriel thoughtfully. "Should we put some of my lipstick on your face too? To make it look believable?"

Gabriel was about to give a firm no, but she reached into her little purse and took out a shiny object that she held out for him. "You can dab a bit on your lips or smear it on your cheek."

"Oh, sure..." He reached out, their fingers brushing. The touch wasn’t too bad. Soft and fleeting. Just a touch. Nothing unbearable.

Gabriel stared at her, rethinking. Emily was nice and objectively beautiful. She wasn’t pushing into his space or throwing herself at him, which made her almost likeable. Out of all the girls, she was the easiest to be around.

His father’s words ran across his mind.

"Have you tried?"

"Once you spend a night with a girl, you’ll see."

Maybe this was the answer. Maybe he just had to get used to it. Maybe he just had to try.

Gabriel swallowed hard. "Hey, um... if you’re still up to it... maybe we could try?"

Emily looked a little startled, but her face quickly relaxed into a smile. "Of course, we can." She stepped closer, and her scent washed over Gabriel. It was sweet and subdued, like the petals of a rose.

She took his hand and led him to the bed, gently pushing him onto it.

Gabriel’s breath hitched as he fell backward, his palms landing on the cool sheets. He watched, wide-eyed, as Emily climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

It was fine. It was fine. He had to go through with it.

What if it worked? What if he could just live as everyone else, and skip the unnecessary judgment? No societal pressure, no repulsed stares. Just be normal.

She leaned in closer, her breath brushing against his ear as she slipped her hands under his shirt. "I’ll take it off," she whispered.

Gabriel exhaled shakily, letting her pull the shirt over his head. He thought he was going to be sick.

Emily leaned in and planted a soft, tentative kiss on his lips. Gabriel’s fingers curled into fists. It was just a kiss, not the end of the world. He could do this. She was nice. She was pretty.

Gabriel closed his eyes, trying to ignore the growing feeling of suffocation. What was wrong with him? This was normal. This was what everyone did.

Emily’s lips moved down to his neck, pressing soft pecks just below his jawline. She was careful, considerate, as if she could sense his inner conflict.

Still, the sickly feeling wouldn’t go away. Gabriel’s skin prickled, and he reflexively jerked back. He wanted to run, to hide somewhere. But there was nowhere to hide. This whole thing was just humiliating.

"I’m sorry, I—I can’t do this," he blurted out, pressing himself against the wall, hoping it would swallow him whole. "I’m really sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t."

Emily waved her hands in a reassuring motion. "It’s okay, we can stop here... But did I... do something you didn’t like?"

"No, it’s just..." Gabriel tripped over the rug as he stumbled to the door, his breath shallow.

He banged on the door. "Hello? Hello! Can someone unlock the door?" he called out, hoping the maid would happen to be nearby. "Please! Open the door! I can’t do this! Let me out!"

Gabriel panted, his pounding on the door slowing as the faint sound of retreating footsteps echoed down the hall. Footsteps that were impossible to mistake for anyone else’s. His hand fell to his side, trembling.

His father had been standing there. Listening. Waiting.

This house became unbearable to live in.

The same routine repeating every week turned intolerable.

Gabriel grew to resent it all. The meaningless questions, the constant nagging, the growing mountain of expectations.

Before he knew it, the littlest things set him on fire.

"Your grades have been slipping. When will you do something about it? You’re going to be eighteen next year, entering adulthood. It’s time you start dealing with it independently."

"If you’d let me do things independently, I would," Gabriel snapped back.

William scrutinized him in tense silence but decided to graciously let the small outburst slide.

"Do you think you’re capable of making good decisions for yourself?"

Gabriel scoffed, his hands trembling from anger. "What about you? Do you think the decisions you make for me are good?"

"I’m doing everything to ensure you have a bright future, Gabriel."

"No, you’re not," Gabriel’s voice climbed in volume. "You’re doing it for your image. So your gay son wouldn’t taint your name! It’s all for the fucking company!"

William sternly set his fork down. "Watch your language."

All of Gabriel’s bottled-up thoughts rolled out his mouth like gravel, scratching the perfectly polished table.

"Is the company even worth it? Are you happy? None of us are happy here! I can’t even remember the last time you smiled at something other than a camera! Or—or—a business partner!"

He huffed, something between sobs and laughs. "And I can’t even remember the last time I saw my mom! It’s all about work, for the both of you! So I wish you’d just leave my personal life, like you’ve been doing this whole time!"

The echo of his voice faded, his chest heaving with built-up emotions. Yet his father’s expression stayed unflinching. No regrets. No guilt, or care, or whatever. Just exhaustion and disapproval. Like it was just another time his son stepped out of line.

"Go back to your room."

Gabriel laughed bitterly. "Why? So you can send another woman up there?"

He had shot himself in the foot with that question because another woman was sent up that very evening, not even an hour after dinner.

"Hi," the woman said, her voice detachedly smooth, as if she had done this a thousand times before.

Gabriel, too, felt like he had heard it a thousand times. He felt like screaming, or crying, or breaking something.

As the lock clicked for the fourth time that month, he stepped back to the window and yanked it open. He climbed over the sill, his heart pounding.

"What are you doing?!" the woman exclaimed, rushing toward him.

"One step closer, and I’ll jump," he warned coldly, though his heart raced with fear. "Don’t come any closer."