Abigail
As the car moved through the streets, I barely registered the world I was passing by. My body was too drained to pay attention. Alexander sat beside me, silent for a few moments before his voice broke through the stillness. “Where would you like me to take you? Home?”
The way he asked made something inside me still. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the way he said them; carefully, gently, as if he already knew what had happened. As if he knew that stepping into that house wasn’t something I wanted to do. For a brief second, I nearly asked him to take me anywhere but there. A hotel. A park. Hell, even a guest room in his sprawling estate. Anywhere my brother wasn’t.But I bit back the request before it could slip out. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Alexander had already done so much for me today. I couldn’t ask for more. I couldn’t cling to his kindness like some lost, broken thing. So instead, I swallowed theAbigailAs I sat, my body was tense with the weight of invisible chains Marceline had just locked around me. She smiled serenely, almost as if she were pleased by my compliance. The sight of it sent a shiver down my spine. Marceline wasn’t someone who wasted time gloating. If she was pleased, it was because she had more to say to me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.She folded her hands neatly in her lap, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Remind me, Abigail,” she said in that deceptively soft voice of hers, “what is my name?”I frowned. It was a strange question, almost childish in nature. But something about the way she asked it, calm, yet expectant, put me on edge.So I answered. “Marceline Remington.”Her smile widened, as if my response had somehow delighted her. “That’s correct,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Marceline Remington. Wife of Stephen Remington. The woman at the h
Abigail The room felt like it was shrinking around me, the walls closing in inch by inch. But Marceline wasn't finished yet. She turned her gaze to another man, the one standing near the entrance leading deeper into the house. He was a broad-shouldered figure, his expression neutral as though he had been trained not to show emotion. "And this," Marceline said, her tone as light as if she were introducing a friend at a social gathering, "is the lovely caregiver who so graciously escorted your dear mother to her new home, where she is being taken very good care of." My fingers twitched as my breath hitched. Marceline met my gaze with an almost amused expression, as if she enjoyed watching the realization dawn on my face. "Youâ" My voice was hoarse, my throat dry. I swallowed hard and tried again. "You and Conrad, you took her." Marceline smiled, slow and indulgent. "Of course, Abigail. I would have thought you'd already come to that conclusion." I had suspected Conrad was involved
AbigailI stared down at Liam, my body rigid with fury. The man kneeling before me, clutching at my dress, was supposed to be my brother, but right now, I could barely recognize him. "You owe Marceline money?" My voice was sharp, my tone disbelieving. "How, Liam? When did you borrow money from her?" Liam opened his mouth, but before he could form a single word, my gaze snapped to Marceline. "You," I spat, my anger redirecting itself at the woman watching us with a small, knowing smile. "You've gone too far. It wasn't enough for you to sneak around behind my back and meet with my brother in secret, but now youâve loaned him money, too? Who gave you the right to do that?" Marceline didn't react or try to defend herself. She simply watched, and her silence only enraged me further. "Youâre despicable," I seethed. "Manipulating my brother, pulling him into whatever twisted scheme youâre runningâ" "Abigail, stop!" Liam cut me off, his voice rising in desperation. I turned back to him
AbigailMarceline lifted a shoulder in a delicate shrug but she said nothing more. For the first time since this conversation began, Liam met my eyes. I wished he hadnât, because the moment he did, I saw it; the shame, the desperation.The absolute wreck of a man he had become. He swallowed, his Adamâs apple bobbing. "It wasnât supposed to be a big deal," he muttered, his voice rough. "Iâd just started smokingâĶ you know, to take the edge off. Looking for university funds wasâ" He exhaled, shaking his head. "It was stressful. I was worried about the future, about making it, and then one of the gardeners invited me for a smoke as I was leaving the house one day. I figured, why not? It was just one time."My stomach twisted. "One time," I echoed, my voice hollow. Liam nodded weakly. "But it didnât stop, did it?" I asked, my hands trembling at my sides.He hesitated before answering, "No."I shut my eyes for a fraction of a second, inhaling sharply through my nose, willing the fury bubbli
MarcelineMy nails dug into the smooth fabric of the armrest as I kept my expression neutral listening to Abigail's words. Her confidence was needling under my skin like splinters I couldnât remove. I had always doubted Abigail had much of a spine, which was one of the reasons I had tolerated her for so long. So what was this audacity? When and where had she decided she had a sharp tongue to use so boldly against me? It made me furious. Negotiating with Abigail was beneath me.Sitting here, listening to her break down my strategy, made me want to snap my fingers, spur my men into action and be done with this mess. There were so many simple ways to end this entire ordeal I could have employed a long time ago.It would have been so easy too. All that would have been needed was a word in the right ears. Then a simple accident would have occurred. A body washed ashore, or perhaps one that simply vanished.She could have snatched away in the parking lot of the company, or taken a bullet t
Abigail The moment I saw the syringe glint under the light, a terrible realization settled over me like a suffocating shroud. Liam who had just been pleading for my help, was still Marcelineâs pawn. He wasnât going to beg anymore. He was going to force me into submission if that was what Marceline wanted.I didnât know what was in that syringe, but I knew one thing with absolute certaintyâI could not let its contents anywhere inside my body.His sudden movement sent my pulse skyrocketing. I wrenched my arm back, but he was faster, his fingers locking around my wrist with a desperation that sent cold dread rushing through my veins. He was stronger than me, especially in my current state. My body was still exhausted from everything I had been through. But panic was not an option. If I panicked, I would lose.His voice was hoarse when he spoke, the same desperation from before creeping into his tone. âPlease, Abigail. Just stay with Conrad. Itâll fix everything.âHe still thought there
Abigail Marceline's expression was one of sheer condescension. âDo you think I need Susannaâs sloppy plans to strike at you, Abigail?â She let out a low, humorless laugh. âI am the matriarch of the Remington family. I donât stoop to such pathetic schemes.âI barely registered her insult. I was too focused on the implications of what she had just admitted. Susanna had done all of thisâschemed, manipulated, and tried to eliminate my babyâwithout Marcelineâs blessing.Which meant one thing: Susanna wasnât working for Marceline.She had a safety net, but it wasnât who I thought it was. It wasnât the Remington family at all. It was someone else, someone powerful enough that even Susanna, with her delusions of grandeur, had felt secure enough to act.And suddenly, I knew. Whoever it was, had to be the father of her child as well. I lifted my gaze to Marceline, carefully studying her. She was many thingsâcalculating, ruthless, controllingâbut she was also proud. Too proud to ever align her
Alexander The words on the document blurred together, a jumble of black ink on white paper that refused to form coherent sentences. I blinked, shook my head, and tried again. The numbers, the projections, the carefully outlined strategies for the next quarterâall of it should have demanded my full attention. And yet, my mind drifted, pulled back to the last time I saw Abigail.Her eyes haunted me. I thought back to that day I had taken her to the hospital after Susanna had caused a fiasco at the company, the way Abigail had looked at that ultrasound picture of her baby, her eyes filled with a fragile kind of happiness, as if she couldnât quite believe that joy belonged to her. And then, I remembered the look in her eyes when she lost it all. When I had seen her in that hospital bed, almost as pale as the sheets she was lying on. I let out a sharp breath, rubbing a hand down my face. The weight of guilt sat heavily in my chest. The worst part was knowing that maybe, just maybe, I had
AbigailThe first thing I felt as I came to was cold. Not just the kind that prickled the skin or made you shiver, but the kind that sank deep into the marrow, slow and consuming. It felt like the chill in the air had seeped into my bones and decided to settle there, like a second skeleton made of frost. I wanted to curl in on myself, but even that movement felt too much. My body was strangely weak.Against the freezing cold, a searing heat pressed against my lips, like fire on ice...someoneâs lips? I stirred weakly, and in the hazy waking that followed, I became aware of warm droplets falling onto my cheek. Tears, but they werenât mine.I opened my eyes.Alexanderâs face swam into view above me. His brows were drawn together in anguish, but his eyes lit up with such sudden relief when he saw I was awake, it made my heart twist. There were tears in his eyes, actual tears, and I donât think he even noticed them until I reached up with trembling fingers and brushed one away.âYouâre cry
Conrad This was wrong. All wrong. I took a slow sip of my whiskey, trying to let the burn of it distract me, but it didnât work. The woman in front of me, the one I had spent a ridiculous amount of money perfecting, stood stiffly, her hands clasped together, head tilted downward like a scolded child. She was supposed to look like my wife. She did, to an extent. The hair, the eyes, even the perfume; those details were correct. But everything else? Off. Her posture was wrong. Abigail didn't carry herself like an 1900's schoolgirl expecting a caning. Abigail never failed to meet my eyes even when I was spitting fire. Her quiet confidence couldn't be taught. This woman? She was trying too hard, and it irritated me. I sighed, rolling the glass between my fingers before setting it down with a dull clink. This would have to do for now. I couldnât have Abigail yet, but I needed something, someone, to fill the void, and it couldn't be Susanna. At least, not for now. Mother had been s
Alexander The moment I pulled open the door hidden under the base of the statue of the Virgin Mary, the scent of decay hit me like a punch to the gut.No, that wasnât quite right. I had smelled it the moment I stepped into the manor of the estate. That deep, cloying stench of something long past its time, something that should have been laid to rest but had been left to fester instead. But I had ignored it. Or rather, I had hoped, prayed even, that it was nothing more than the rot of an abandoned estate.I never thought we would find a body. But there she was.I barely had time to register the sight of the corpse before I heard Abigailâs sharp gasp behind me. I moved without thinking, shoving the door closed and stepping in front of it, using my body as a shield as if I could somehow erase what she had just seen. But it was too late.She had seen, and she knew. I didnât need to hear her say it to understand. I had already reached the same conclusionâthe same horrible, gut-wrenching
Abigail The man who had leaned against the statue stumbled back, waving away dust with one hand as he coughed. A thick cloud filled the air, and I instinctively raised my arm to cover my nose and mouth. The statue of the Virgin Mary had crumbled like a sandcastle, revealing something hidden under it. As the dust settled, Alexander stepped closer, his expression sharpening with concern and curiosity. Where the statue once stood, there was now a gaping hole, the jagged edges of stone framing what looked like a concealed door. The wood was so moldy and blackened with age that it barely looked like wood at all. There was no handle, just a small opening where fingers could slip in and pull. Alexander reached for it. Something in me screamed for him to stop. I donât know why. Maybe I already knew, deep down, what was waiting behind that door. But he pulled it open anyway, grunting as a laboring creak filled the air. The first thing I noticed was the stench. It was putrid, suffocatin
Susanna I stirred awake to the sound of slow, rhythmic breathing beside me, the weight of an arm slung over my waist. My head felt thick with exhaustion, my limbs sore in ways I didnât care to think about. For a long moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling of the garish motel room, the golden swirls on red wallpaper filling me with distaste. Where am I? The question drifted through my half-conscious mind before memory came rushing back, hitting me like a slap to the face. Oh. Right. Disgust twisted my expression. I shoved the arm off me, wincing at the soreness in my lower back as I sat up. The movement jostled the man beside me, and he made a groggy sound before blinking awake. He turned his head towards me, his lips stretching into a lazy, leering grin. "Mm," he hummed, eyes roaming over my body, shameless despite the crust of sleep still clinging to his lashes. "You havenât lost your touch, sweetheart. If anything, youâre even better than before." I scowled, n
Abigail It had been hours since Alexander and I arrived at Ravenbrook, since I had first stepped into this decrepit house with my heart pounding and my hopes soaring against my better judgment. I had been so sure. After hearing Liam say the name, and seeing the terror on his face when he whispered it, I had believed with every part of me that my mother would be here. That I would find her at last. That all of this suffering, all of the waiting, all of the agonizing weeks spent wondering if she was alive or dead, had been leading to this moment. And yet, all I had to show for my hope was nothing. No signs of life. No whispers of her presence. No misplaced object, no forgotten article of clothing, no single trace that a woman who had once been the most important person in my world had ever been here at all. I had searched everywhere. The bedrooms, the bathrooms, the library, the study. I had torn through dusty closets, rummaged through abandoned drawers, even pressed my hand agai
Abigail The elevator ride down was silent. I barely registered the soft chime announcing each floor as we descended, nor the polished steel doors reflecting my pale face back at me. My mind was spinning, turning over the name Ravenbrook like a stone in my palm, searching for familiarity in its edges and weight. Where had I heard it before? It clung to me, refusing to let go, like a whisper just out of reach. Beside me, Alexander stood still, his hands in his pockets, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me. He was watching me closely. I wasnât sure if it was concern or curiosity at my quietness, but I had no space in my mind to dwell on it. I could only focus on Ravenbrook. There was something stirring in my memory, faint but persistent. By the time we stepped into the hospitalâs lobby and moved toward the parking lot, my hands had curled into fists. The answer was there. I could feel it. I slid into the passenger seat of Alexanderâs car, fastening my seatbelt automatica
Abigail Liam moved closer, his shoulders shaking, his face wet with tears. His eyes were desperate as he reached out, trying to wrap his arms around me in an embrace. I turned my body away, just enough to avoid him. His arms hung in the air for a second before he let them drop. He sniffled loudly, his breath coming in short, unsteady bursts. I swallowed hard, forcing down the emotions rushing through me. âLiam,â I said quietly, my voice steadier than I expected. âThat man you saw speaking with Marceline and Conrad, who was he?â Liam wiped his face roughly, blinking at me in confusion. âI told you already,â he mumbled. âI donât know.â I didnât believe him. Maybe he didnât have a name, but Liam wasnât stupid. He had spent time around Aaron, the man who had led him into this mess. There was no way he hadnât overheard something, some kind of detail that could clue me in. I narrowed my eyes. âLiam, think.â He shook his head, his movements jerky. âI...I donât know anything
Abigail I couldn't take it anymore. Everything Liam had said so far, every word, had been an excuse. I hadnât wanted to say it, had tried to keep my emotions in check, but the words slipped past my lips before I could stop them. âAll of thisâĶ all of it, Liam, is just you making excuses.â Liamâs eyes widened slightly, as if he hadnât expected me to say that. But I couldnât stop now. âYouâve told me about the gambling, the debts, the deals you made, but you still havenât explained why you helped Susanna hurt me. Your own sister.â My voice shook with anger and hurt. âAnd what about Mom, Liam? You havenât even mentioned her. Havenât even said her name. Do you even care that we still don't know where she is?â I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling quickly. âAnd you havenât even apologized,â I whispered, shaking my head. âNot once.â Liam stared at me after my outburst, something dark and ugly flashing in his eyes. His hands clenched into fists. Then, in an instant, he