AbigailThe sound of a car woke me up, and I realized I had fallen asleep amidst a pile of documents. Lately, I’ve been getting sleepier and sleepier, probably because of the chaos at home. I’ve been busy taking over the burdens Conrad, my husband, has been carrying, hoping he’ll stop looking so troubled all the time.Looking out the window, I saw Conrad's car pull up. After getting out from the driver’s seat, he bent down to open the door for the passenger side. A woman stepped out and walked into the house. I couldn’t see the woman’s face from the window as it was hidden by her hat. Filled with curiosity, I went downstairs to greet them.As I came down to the bottom and moved toward the foyer, I couldn’t see who it was at first, only Conrad by the doorway, his head bent as he spoke to the woman just beyond my view. I couldn’t make out her words, but the voice was familiar. He was smiling—a smile so wide and bright it made me pause. I took a step closer, and that’s when she came into
AbigailAs I sat there on the examination table, the sharp antiseptic scent in the hospital room pricked at my senses. The doctor asked me seriously, "Are you here alone?""Yes, my family, they’re all busy," I instinctively made an excuse for Conrad. Though the truth was, he and the family doctor were at home, tending to Susanna, who wasn’t even injured but wouldn’t stop crying. Their actions today hurt me more deeply than any shattered fragments. It made me feel that instead of staying there hoping for help, I might as well come to the hospital alone to take care of my wounds.The doctor glanced up, his brows knitting together as he took in my pale face and trembling hands. He’d been treating me in silence for a few minutes now, but I could sense his growing concern. He held my gaze with patience, waiting for me to take a breath and settle myself. “Are you all right?” His voice was soft as if he knew that just the act of being in the same room as this open wound was almost too much f
Abigail “What are you doing in here?” I asked sharply, my voice cutting through the quiet. Susanna held up one of my scarves against her arm, admiring it. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m just getting settled. I’ll be staying in this room.” I blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. “Excuse me?” Her grey eyes sparkled with amusement. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? You and Conrad need to be close if I need anything, and my room is so far down the hall. It’s just more convenient for everyone if I stay here.” My pulse quickened, anger rising swiftly. “This is our room. I and Conrad’s. You don’t just decide to move in without even asking.” Susanna smirked, unfazed by the heat in my voice. “I wasn’t asking. Conrad said I could stay here.” “Did he?” I said, my tone ice-cold. “I find that hard to believe.” Our voices rose, each word louder than the last, until the door creaked open behind us. Conrad entered the room, his expression wary as he took in the
AbigailMy stomach dropped. “What?” “Susanna fainted,” he said, his voice rising. “The doctors think it could be something she ate. She said it started after breakfast.” “You think I did something to her?” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “I’m not accusing you,” he said, though his tone didn’t fully match his words. “I just need to know if there was anything unusual in the food. Susanna’s health—”“Was fine when I left the house,” I interrupted sharply. “I made her an omelette. Eggs, cheese, a pinch of salt. Nothing unusual. The same thing I’ve made a hundred times before.” He sighed on the other end of the line, and I could almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Abigail. I just—” “Just what?” I interrupted. “I’m here at the hospital, dealing with my own recovery, and now I have to defend myself because Susanna fainted? You think I’d harm her?” There was a long pause, and for a moment, I thought he’d hung up. Finally, he sai
AbigailHis voice held a hint of tension, and I felt a rush of apprehension.“I—uh, I heard the phone ringing.” I said, my mind racing to think of how to play this off. I couldn’t let him know I’d seen my surprise. “It was so loud, and I thought the call might be important.” His eyes narrowed slightly, and I could see the tension in his posture. He stepped into the room, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You shouldn’t have come in here, Abigail. You know how I feel about people being in this room without my permission.” He replied, his tone sharper than I expected.“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be a problem,” I replied. “You weren’t around, and it sounded urgent. It was about Alexander. I took the call. They have some leads, and I gave my permission for them to proceed.”The tension between us was thick as I stood there, waiting for Conrad’s response. His brow furrowed as if trying to choose the right words. But when he finally spoke, I felt my frustration boil over a
AbigailA surge of doubt and fear almost made me faint. What if the person in this painting was Susanna? We do look quite alike, but I’m sure the person in the painting is me. It’s identical to the poster from my first role, the one my mother keeps, and I see it every time I go home. But if it’s my painting, why would it be given to Susanna?Susanna’s tears fell in perfect little drops, and her voice trembled with just enough emotion to be convincing.“Every year, Alexander would do something special for my birthday,” she sniffled, clutching the bouquet like a lifeline. “Thank you, Conrad. I never thought... I never thought anyone could make me feel like that again. This makes me feel like he’s still with me.”My husband placed the roses into Susanna’s hands with a smile so warm, it burned. “Happy birthday, Susanna. I hope this reminds you of Alexander—of how much you’re loved.”She burst into delicate sobs, burying her face into the roses as if overcome with emotion. It was a picture-
AbigailMaybe it was because I had just heard his reasonable explanation and trusted him, or maybe I had a feeling there would be more reasons waiting for me. Either way, for the sake of the baby, my sleep was more important than where Conrad went. So, I turned and went straight to bed, deciding to leave the problem for tomorrow.By the time I got up, Conrad was already getting ready to leave.“Good morning,” Conrad stood by the mirror, adjusting his tie with practiced ease. His dark suit was crisp and perfectly tailored, the kind of sharpness that made it immediately obvious he was a man from a powerful family.“Morning,” I replied briefly, leaning against the doorframe, masking my unease with casual conversation. “Where were you last night?” I asked, my voice steady.His hands froze for the briefest second before he recovered quickly, smoothing the tie knot. “Working,” he said simply. “In the study.”I raised a brow, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, as if to steer
AbigailI fastened the necklace around my neck, letting the cool metal rest against my collarbone as I studied my reflection. The earrings were already pinned to my ears. The jewelry Conrad had given me the night before sparkled in the morning light, a perfect complement to my plain dress. Despite everything, I wanted to feel put together, like myself. And this reminded me that above all else, my husband loves me.Stepping out of the bedroom, I barely made it a few steps before Susanna’s voice rang out, sickly sweet. “Oh, good morning, Abigail!”Her smile was bright, almost too bright, as her eyes flicked to the jewelry I wore. I gave her a polite nod, bracing for whatever comment she had prepared. “Morning, Susanna.”She tilted her head, an air of fake innocence about her. “Oh, that’s a lovely set you’re wearing. Did Conrad pick it out for you?”“Yes, he did,” I replied, unwilling to say any more.Her smile widened, but there was something predatory in it. “Speaking of jewelry, I can’
Alexander The sharp knock on my office door pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked, dragging myself back to the present, and let out a deep breath before speaking. “Come in.”The door opened, and Daniel stepped inside, a file tucked under his arm. His usual composed expression was there, but I caught the faintest glint of excitement in his eyes as he walked toward my desk. That alone told me he had found something good.I leaned back in my chair, tapping my fingers against the armrest as I watched him place the file in front of me.“You have something?” I asked, my voice even.“I do,” Daniel confirmed, smoothing his tie as he stepped back. “I was looking into Liliana, as you requested, but while I was digging into her background, I came across some troubling information about her son, Harry.”I frowned, my gaze dropping to the file in front of me. The boy had barely crossed my mind before now. I knew he existed but I had never given him much thought. He was just a teenager, hardly sig
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 quarter—all 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 couldn’t 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
Abigail Marceline's expression was one of sheer condescension. “Do you think I need Susanna’s sloppy plans to strike at you, Abigail?” She let out a low, humorless laugh. “I am the matriarch of the Remington family. I don’t stoop to such pathetic schemes.”I barely registered her insult. I was too focused on the implications of what she had just admitted. Susanna had done all of this—schemed, manipulated, and tried to eliminate my baby—without Marceline’s blessing.Which meant one thing: Susanna wasn’t working for Marceline.She had a safety net, but it wasn’t who I thought it was. It wasn’t 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 things—calculating, ruthless, controlling—but she was also proud. Too proud to ever align her
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 Marceline’s pawn. He wasn’t going to beg anymore. He was going to force me into submission if that was what Marceline wanted.I didn’t know what was in that syringe, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty—I 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. “Please, Abigail. Just stay with Conrad. It’ll fix everything.”He still thought there
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 couldn’t 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
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 hadn’t, because the moment he did, I saw it; the shame, the desperation.The absolute wreck of a man he had become. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal," he muttered, his voice rough. "I’d just started smoking… you know, to take the edge off. Looking for university funds was—" 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 didn’t 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
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 you’ve 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. "You’re despicable," I seethed. "Manipulating my brother, pulling him into whatever twisted scheme you’re running—" "Abigail, stop!" Liam cut me off, his voice rising in desperation. I turned back to him
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. "You—" 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
AbigailAs 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