Hello readers, Will Mike be able to understand that Abigail is Tuberose?
Michael's pov - "How?" I inquire, my voice laced with equal parts curiosity and apprehension. I am desperate for a solution, but a part of me hesitates to accept her assistance, unsure of the implications it might have on our relationship. "Maybe with something that I can't prove," she says, her words carrying a hint of mystery. "But don't worry, it's my money, and it's legal. You can use it." My heart sinks, the weight of my past words and judgments crashing down upon me. How could I have called her a gold digger when she possesses such wealth? How could I have been so blind to her achievements and success? A mix of emotions swirls within me—gratitude, guilt, and a deep sense of remorse. I realize now that I've underestimated Abby, and reduced her to mere stereotypes without truly understanding the depth of her character and accomplishments. I take a moment to reflect on the times I've seen her tirelessly working multiple jobs when we first met, her determination and drive to succe
Abigail's pov - I step out of the shower, the cool air causing goosebumps to form on my skin. Wrapped in a towel, droplets of water cascade down my body as I make my way toward the dressing room. But then, something catches my eye. There he is, lying peacefully on the bed, fast asleep. The sight of him in such a vulnerable state fills me with an overwhelming rush of affection. I can't help but admire his tousled hair, the way it falls gently across his forehead. He looks so peaceful, like a child lost in a blissful dream. A soft smile forms on my lips as I approach him, my heart filled with warmth and love. I take a seat beside him, unable to resist the temptation to be closer to him. My fingers tingle with the desire to touch his hair, to run them through the strands that have always held a certain fascination for me. Unconsciously, I reach out, gently grazing his hair, reveling in the softness beneath my fingertips. But my touch, however gentle, stirs something within him. He sti
Abigail's pov - As we approach the entrance, Mick takes the lead, his footsteps echoing through the desolate space. "Stay close," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the pounding of my heart. "And be ready for anything." The warehouse is shrouded in darkness, the only illumination coming from thin slivers of light seeping through the gaps in the boarded-up windows. The air hangs heavy with the scent of dampness and decay, heightening our senses as we navigate the labyrinthine corridors. With each step, anticipation and anxiety intertwine, creating a knot in the pit of my stomach. I try to steady my breathing, my mind focused on the task at hand. We must find Ema, no matter the cost. As we turn a corner, a dim light flickers ahead, casting eerie shadows along the walls. A muffled sound reaches our ears, a whimper perhaps, or a distant cry for help. Adrenaline courses through my veins, fueling my resolve. We move closer, the tension thickening with every passing moment. Mick
Abigail's pov - We arrive at the hospital, Jack, Ema, and I, all consumed by worry for Mick. The police had led us here, their presence providing some solace amidst the chaos. But now, as we stand outside the hospital doors, the kidnapper's escape fades into insignificance. All that matters is Mick's well-being, and my heart aches with fear and uncertainty. "Please stay here," a nurse instructs us, her voice carrying a mix of compassion and authority. We nod, understanding the limitations of our access at this moment. Our eyes remain fixed on the stretcher being wheeled away, carrying Mick's unconscious form, as the hospital staff rushes him into the emergency ward. Time slows to a crawl as we wait anxiously outside, minutes stretching into what feels like an eternity. The weight of the unknown presses upon us, and I can no longer hold back the tears that stream down my face. Jack's arms envelop me, providing a measure of comfort, but the worry in his eyes mirrors my own. "He will
Abigail's pov - We gathered around Mick's bed, our eyes fixed on his face, willing him to wake up. The room is filled with the sound of beeping machines, the steady rhythm of life persisting despite the turmoil that surrounds us. Ema's hand reaches out, touching Mick's arm gently, her voice laced with love and longing. "Come back to us, Mick. We need you," she whispers, her voice trembling with unshed tears. Though I frown at her. However, her concern seems real and I gulp my unhappiness with her way of treating my husband. Jack stands beside me, his gaze fixed on his friend, a mix of concern and unwavering loyalty shining in his eyes. He places a hand on my back, offering silent support in this moment of helplessness. Time stretches on, minutes blending into hours, as we sit by Mick's side, hoping and praying for a sign of improvement. The beeping of the monitors becomes a familiar soundtrack, a constant reminder that life is still present, even in its fragile state. Michael's fa
William's pov - Fury courses through my veins as Ema's accusations and questions echo in my mind. The seething anger rises within me, a storm ready to unleash its destructive force. How dare she question my methods? How dare she blame me for the failure to break Michael and Abigail's relationship? I pace the room, the walls closing in on me, as Ema's voice lingers in the air. Each word, laced with disappointment and frustration, pierces through my resolve. The weight of my own shattered plans weighs heavily on my shoulders, exacerbating my rage. With a surge of uncontrolled anger, I lash out, swiping my hand across the table, sending objects crashing to the ground. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood fills the room, a reflection of the destruction that simmers within me. Ema's audacity to question my actions fuels the inferno within. Her doubt in my abilities stokes the flames of my fury, pushing me to the edge of reason. I can't bear the thought of failure, of being
Abigail's pov - I awake to find myself wrapped snugly in a blanket, the room bathed in a soft, warm glow. Confusion washes over me as I try to recall how I ended up here. I remember leaning against the sofa, but then everything becomes hazy. When did I fall asleep? Glancing around, I realize that Mick is not on the bed. Concern tugs at my heart, and I quickly sit up, scanning the room for any sign of him. Then, my eyes land on him, standing by the window, gazing out at the rain falling from the heavens. He seems lost in his thoughts, captivated by the tranquil beauty outside. Without hesitation, I walk over to him, my steps light and purposeful. "Hey, Mr. Husband. Enjoying alone?" I playfully call out, slipping my arm through his left and positioning myself by his side, leaning against his shoulder. He turns his head, a smile lighting up his face. "Sleeping wife and showering rain. The perfect view," he replies, his voice filled with warmth and affection. I can't help but giggle,
Abigail's pov - Though I wanted to stay last night at the hospital Jack sent me by saying to take some rest. Mick also insisted. So, unwillingly I had to come home. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as I stand in the kitchen, anxiously awaiting Michael's return from the hospital. The past few days have been a blur of worry, sleepless nights, and the constant ache in my heart. But today, I can finally breathe a sigh of relief as he steps through the front door, albeit with a bandaged arm and weariness in his eyes. "Welcome home, Michael," I greet him softly, a mix of emotions swirling within me—relief, joy, and an underlying fear that still lingers. He smiles weakly, the pain etched across his features, but there's a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "It feels good to be back," he replies, his voice laden with exhaustion. My heart swells with affection as I reach out to touch his uninjured arm, offering what little comfort I can. "You've been through so much," I say,