Falling For My Ex's Dad (Clarissa and Gabriel) novel Chapter 147

Chapter 147 Proving She’s Cheating With Her Ex 

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. 

2/6 

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?” 

“Yes,” I replied, my voice clipped. I wasn’t about to give him any more details. 

“Shit,” he muttered. “Didn’t see that one coming. So what’s the deal? Is she one of the others, or did you actually fall for her this time, only to find out she’s screwing this guy- 

“Don’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. I couldn’t stand hearing him talk about Clairessa that way. “Just find out what I need to know. No assumptions, no speculation–just the facts.” 

Clayton’s tone shifted, all amusement gone. “Understood. Send me the picture. I’ll run it through facial recognition and cross–check any connections. If there’s something to find, I’ll get it.” 

I leaned back in my chair, gritting my teeth as I stared at the damn image again, desperately trying to 

make out the man’s face. I could only see Clairessa–her lips against his, her body pressed against him as if she belonged there. Faint traces of his blond hair were barely visible from the angle, but it was enough to make my blood boil. 

“I’ll send it now,” I muttered. “And Clayton, don’t waste any time on this. I want answers yesterday.” 

“You’ll have them soon,” he assured me. “I’ll be in touch.” 

The call ended, and I exhaled, my chest aching–rising and falling with a sharp force that made me feel like my heart might stop. 

My mind fought against it–fought for any excuse, any explanation that could erase this reality. But then, her voice echoed back at me–our last conversation in her office. 

She had been nervous. Her lips had parted as if she had something to say, but she swallowed it down, hesitating before telling me we needed to talk. 

Was this what she had meant? 

Was she trying to confess? 

My breathing grew ragged as another memory resurfaced–one I had buried deep. The morning we had breakfast together–the day her ex kept calling. 

The calls had come in one after another, and I had noticed the way she stiffened each time she glanced at her phone. I had wanted to confront the bastard right then and there, but she had placed her hand over mine, her voice soft as she whispered, “Let it go, Gabriel. He doesn’t matter. I blocked him.” 

She had looked me in the eye and told me she loved me. Then she kissed me–slow, deep–until everything else faded away, leaving only the feel of her in my arms. 

And like a blind fucking fool, I had believed her. I threw caution to the wind, even when the signs were right in front of me. 

She lied? 

She never blocked him? 

Now, it was all falling into place. The times she ignored my calls. The nights she was vague about where she was. And Daniel–fuck. She had lied about having lunch with him, too.