Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 171

171 The Photo

171 The Photo

Olivia’s POV

“What’s in here?” I asked curiously, breaking the seal on the envelope.

Gabriel gave a small nod. “See for yourself.”

His face remained unreadable, completely blank–giving nothing away.

I furrowed my brows and slowly pulled out the contents. It was a photo.

One glance, and I froze.

It was a picture of my father… with Sir Damon.

They were standing close, heads slightly bowed in conversation. It looked like the photo had been taken without their knowledge.

My heart raced.

This couldn’t be right.

“When… when was this taken?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Was it before

was arrested? That was four years ago, but…”

My voice faded as I stared at the photo, my heart racing.

my father

My father looked older in this photo. He had a well–groomed, full beard. His black hair was longer now, and there were a few grey strands that hadn’t been there before.

And Sir Damon–he looked exactly as he did now. Not four years younger.

“This… this doesn’t make sense,” I whispered.

My hands shook as I looked up at Gabriel. “What is this? Where did it come from?”

Gabriel stepped closer, his confusion mirroring mine. “I had my spies search Anita’s father’s room. They found it hidden in one of his drawers.”

My mouth opened, but no words came out at first.

This photo–it felt recent. Too recent.

(<171 The Photo

But it couldn’t be.

My father was dead. Burled. Gone.

And yet, in this picture… he looked alive. Dressed neatly in a dark coat, posture strong,

salert. Not like

someone who had been rotting in a grave.

My heart pounded against my ribs.

“What am I seeing?” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

Gabriel stepped closer, sharing my confusion. “I was also confused when I saw this photo.”

I blinked slowly, trying to piece it all together. My throat tightened.

“But my father is dead,” I said again, more firmly this time, as if saying it with enough certainty would make everything make sense.

Gabriel looked at me carefully, the tension in his jaw tightening. “Was he buried?” he asked gently. “Do you know where his grave is?”

I shook my head slowly. “No… I know nothing.” My voice cracked. “We weren’t allowed

to see him. Not after the arrest. Not even after his death.” (2

Tears stung the corners of my eyes.

It had been four long years since I last saw him. And now–this. This photo that didn’t

look old.

“My men are still digging,” Gabriel said softly. “We need to find out where he was buried–or if he was ever buried at all.”

My lips parted, and before I could stop myself, the question spilled out.

“What if he’s still alive?”

It sounded stupid. Ridiculous. Naive. But the second I saw that photo, it was the first thing I felt. Deep in my chest, beneath the pain and disbelief.

Gabriel didn’t laugh. He didn’t even look surprised.

Instead, he stared at me as if trying to feel what I was feeling.

“I’ll look deeper into it,” he said. “I swear I will.”

171 The Photo

The tears broke free, slipping down my cheeks. “But if he’s alive… why wouldn’t he come back to me?” My voice cracked again. “Why wouldn’t he say something? Anything?”

I clutched the photo to my chest like it could hold me together, but I was already falling apart. The tears came harder now, and I turned my face away in shame.

I hated crying.

But Gabriel stepped closer–close enough that I could feel his warmth again. We were still naked, our skin kissed by the fading sunlight and the cold breeze from the leaves.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he said gently. “You don’t deserve this kind of pain, Olivia.”

His voice was low, almost a whisper–but it reached deep inside me.

I looked up at him through blurred vision, and he was just there, looking at me like I

mattered.

And before I knew what I was doing, I moved into him–my arms wrapping around his waist. I buried my face into his chest. His scent surrounded me, calming and strong.

He held me. Carefully. Tenderly.

And for a moment, I didn’t feel so alone.

Then he pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. His hand lifted to cup my cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

His gaze dropped to my lips.

And then–he kissed me.

My heart skipped a beat.