CHAPTER 5 - FAMILY MATTERS

ABEL

Morning arrived for Abel with the cold and grey reality of a headache that whiskey couldn’t cure.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, splashing freezing water on his face. The man staring back at him was a ruin. Hollow cheeks. Eyes rimmed red. He looked like grief personified, which was appropriate, because that was more or less what he was

He could still hear Olivia humming that lullaby in the dark. He had stood in front of her door for what felt like hours last night before finally forcing himself to leave. He told himself it was his sleep deprivation. And somehow, a french lullaby he had only ever heard Helen sing was probably popular.

He got dressed in a regal Italian grey suit cut like armor and sharp enough to draw blood. That was what he needed today. He had barely walked out of his room when he heard voices drifting up from the dining room. Not the hushed tones of the staff. The sharp, clinking laughter of trespassers.

His blood pressure spiked. He checked his watch. 7:01 AM.

He let out a short breath and descended the stairs with silent steps, the voices becoming more distinct as he approached the double doors of the dining room.

"... that's pathetic, really. Leaving the west wing empty for eight months? It’s bad for the foundation. Damp could get in."

"Mother, the man is mourning. Or drinking. Probably both."

Maria and David.

Abel pushed the doors open.

They were already seated at the dining table. His stepmother, Maria, sat at the head where he usually sat, her ash blonde hair falling gracefully down her sides. David was sitting on her right, picking at a plate of fruit with the boredom of a prince.

Maria Lamb was sixty-five but looked thirty years younger thanks to numerous cosmetic jobs. At least now, she was fake inside and out. She wore a white power suit. She always wore white. As if trying to bleach the stains from her conscience. David, her son and Abel's stepbrother, wore a smirk that Abel had wanted to punch off his face since they were twelve.

"Who let you in?" Abel muttered and walked to the sideboard to pour himself a cup of coffee, not sparing them a glance.

"Good morning to you too, Abel," Maria purred. "We have keys, darling. Or have you forgotten?"

"I changed the locks," he said, taking a sip of black coffee. It was bitter, just like his life. Perfect.

"We have new keys," David corrected, popping a grape into his mouth. "Security is surprisingly affordable if you know who to bribe."

Abel set the cup down slowly and let his gaze sweep between them for the first time. "If this is about the quarterly earnings you can call my secretary."

"We aren't here for the earnings, Abel," Maria said, her tone dropping her mock pleasantry. She leaned forward, her pale blue eyes locking onto his. "We're here for the rumor."

"Which one?" he asked. "That I'm crazy? That I'm selling the company? You start most of them, Maria. You tell me."

Maria let out a breath and rolled her eyes. "The rumor," she said, dragging each word clearly, "that you found a wife in a catalogue."

Abel wasn't even surprised. Nothing ever got past their ears.

"I didn't find her in a catalogue," he said calmly.

David snorted. "Sounds desperate if you ask me. You know you have three months until the fiscal year ends, right? If you aren't married by then, the Trust dissolves, and the voting shares revert to the next of kin. That’s us, big brother."

"I am aware of the timeline," he said, his jaw tightening.

"Are you?" Maria cut in. She stood up, smoothed her skirt and walked toward him, the heels of her shoes clicking like a ticking clock. "Because the Board is getting nervous, Abel. All they see is a broken man hiding in a haunted house."

She stopped inches from him, smelling of expensive perfume and pure malice.

"Show us this… prop girl. Or admit you're lying, step down, and let David take the helm. I say, he's more than ready."

Abel looked at David who was checking his reflection in a silver spoon and twisting a strand of his blonde hair between his fingers. He wasn't ready to run a lemonade stand, let alone a conglomerate.

"She's not a prop." Abel turned back to face Maria. "She’s my fiancée."

"Then where is she?" Maria challenged. "Does she exist? Or is she just another ghost you talk to when your whiskey runs out?"

Suddenly, the doors flew open and Abel turned to find Olivia standing in the doorway.

She was wearing the clothes he had asked Thomas to drop at her room last night. A simple cream blouse and tailored trousers that fit her slender frame perfectly. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves around her face.

And in the morning light, stripped of the evening shadows, the resemblance hit him in the gut all over again. But this time he wasn't the only one.

He watched Maria for the shock. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat, clutching her chain necklace.

"Helen?" she whispered.

It was a good performance. Almost convincing. But Abel knew his step-mother well, and she didn't believe in ghosts.

David dropped his spoon and it clattered loudly on the floor. He stared at Olivia, the color draining from his face.

Olivia hesitated to walk in, her hand on the doorframe as she glanced between the three of them.

"I'm sorry," her soft voice came out low. "I didn't know you had company. I can come back if-"

"No," Abel cut in and crossed over to where she stood.

"Maria, David," he said, placing a hand on the small of Olivia's back. He felt her flinch at the contact, a tiny tremor that only he could feel. "Meet Olivia Delaney. My fiancée."

Abel saw Olivia look up at him, surprised by the touch, but didn't pull away.

Maria recovered first. Of course she did. "Olivia," she breathed. She walked toward them and stopped a few feet away, her eyes raking over Olivia’s face. "My God. The resemblance is... It's remarkable."

"I'm told I have a familiar face," Olivia said with a steady voice, though Abel could feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"Familiar?" David said, and a hollow laugh escaped his lips. He stood up, knocking his chair back and walked around the table, circling Olivia like a predator inspecting prey. "You look like a corpse. A walking corpse. Wait, wait, tell me. How much did her cosmetics cost?”

"David," Abel gritted through his teeth, his hand tightening at Olivia's back

"What?" David grinned and grabbed her by her chin. “Did Abel give you her old clothes, too? Did he ask you to wear her perfume?" He leaned in, sniffing the air near Olivia’s neck.

Abel's body reacted first before his mind and he shoved David back so hard he stumbled back.

"Touch her again," Abel said, his voice barely a whisper, "and you’ll be eating through a straw."

David straightened and brushed invisible dust off his jacket, his grin fading into a sneer. "Touching."

"Enough,” Maria said, stepping between them. She turned her gaze to Olivia and gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Welcome to the family, Olivia. It takes a brave woman to step into a dead woman’s shoes. Especially when they’re still warm."

Olivia met Maria’s gaze. And then she did something that surprised Abel. "I have my own shoes," Olivia tilted her chin and smiled back. "And I don't scare easily."

Abel felt a spark settle in his chest and swell into something he didn't want to examine.

Maria’s smile faltered for a second, like she hadn't expected someone who looked so fragile to have a spine. "Good," she purred, her eyes narrowing. "You'll need that."

"Well, Abel,” Maria turned to him. “You have a wife, good. That may satisfy the lawyers. But will it satisfy the public."

"What do you mean?" Abel furrowed his brows at her.

Maria stepped in closer. “What do you think will happen when they realise she's just a prop?” she whispered into his ear.

“She’s not a prop,” he repeated once more, gritting his teeth.

Maria turned on her heels and walked back toward the table. "Tonight. Seven o’ clock," she said, picking her purse from the table. "The Lamb Foundation Gala."

She looked at Olivia, then back at him. "Let the world see that Abel Lamb has moved on. If she can survive the night without everyone realizing she’s a paid actor, then maybe, just maybe, we won't call for a vote of no confidence on Monday morning."

She didn't wait for a response and simply walked to the door, stepping around Olivia as if she were a piece of furniture.

"Come, David. We have work to do."

David gave Olivia one last lingering look, and then followed Maria out.

Abel let out a breath he didn't know he was holding once he heard the front door slam and dropped his hand from Olivia's back immediately, stepping away to put a safe distance between them even though he could still feel the heat from her skin prickling his palm.

"They hate me, don't they?" Olivia finally broke the silence after a long minute.

"No, they hate me," Abel replied, walking back to the sideboard and his abandoned coffee. "You’re just collateral damage."

"Do I have to go tonight?" Olivia said, her voice holding no trace of the defiance she had shown earlier.

"Yes,” Abel said coldly, taking a big sip of his coffee.

"But I just got here. I don't have anything to wear. I don't even know how to act at a gala."

"You have twelve hours," he said and turned to face her. "You can't let them find out you really are a hired actress. If you fail tonight or slip up, I lose. And if that happens… well, then I have no use for you."

He walked toward her until he was standing right in front of her, forcing himself to look at her face. Really look at it. "You said you don't scare easily. Prove it."

Olivia held his gaze for a moment, then tightened her jaw and nodded, her eyes flashing with that same defiance she had shown Maria.

"Fine," she said. "But you're paying for the dress."

Abel almost smiled. Almost.

"Very well," he said. "A stylist will be here in an hour."

Abel watched her leave before turning to the window and watching Maria’s car disappear down the driveway. Maria’s reaction earlier had him confused. He had expected her to be frustrated. But she seemed relaxed, unbothered even. Almost like she was rooting for him.

“You're up to something, Maria,” he thought. “And I'm going to find out what it is”

But first, he had to turn a stranger into a wife before sunset.

His phone suddenly went off in his pocket, and he pulled it out.

"Report," he said as he brought the phone to his ear.

“I just checked the hospital in Chicago," Vance said, his voice cracking over the line. "The one Olivia books her appointments."

"And?"

"The records are all there. She's been going there for the past two years. Routine checkups. but something's odd."

Abel tensed up. "Odd how?"

"Her last appointment was a month ago, signed by a Dr. Aris." Vance paused. "But reports show he died three years ago."

The phone suddenly felt heavy in Abel’s hand.

"That’s not enough,” he said, steadying his voice. "Keep digging. And Vance? Get security in the Lamb gala tonight. I want eyes on everyone who talks to her."