Chapter 7 The Perfect Victim

Abby's POV

I hesitated, my hand tightening on the phone. I couldn't tell him. Not yet.

Telling my grandfather that the man was Matteo Romano would just bring him charging into the city, ready to start a war to protect me. I was so tired of him having to clean up my messy life.

This time, I was going to clean it up myself. From start to finish.

"He's just... a way out, Grandpa," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "Please, just trust me. I can handle this."

He grumbled, clearly unhappy with the non-answer, but he didn't press further.

Later that night, Lia's words proved true. Nicholas had arranged an emergency press conference at the Four Seasons Hotel.

I watched it all on the news channel in my room.

There he was, bathed in the flash of cameras, his face a perfect mask of heartbroken devastation. He looked like a man utterly blindsided. He spoke about his shock, about how he had no idea what he'd done wrong, and how devastated he was that I'd not only canceled the engagement but had chosen another man over him.

The reporters were eating it up, their faces etched with pity.

He was playing the perfect, jilted victim. A good guy, wronged by the woman he loved.

My stomach turned. What a performance. The world was watching him, feeling sorry for him, while I was the only one who knew the truth.

He wasn't a good guy. He was a walking, breathing monster!

Just then, Mr. Sullivan knocked softly on my already-open door. I glanced up from the television, where Nicholas was still playing the martyr.

Mr. Sullivan was holding a gift. A sleek, heavy-looking box.

I frowned. "What's this?"

"It arrived a few moments ago, Miss," he answered, his voice neutral. "It's from Mr. Matteo Romano."

My breath caught. I stared at the crimson-red box as he placed it on my vanity. My hands were almost shaking as I opened it.

Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a delicate, impossibly beautiful gold and diamond bracelet.

My heart stopped.

I knew this bracelet.

It had been sent to me in my past life. I'd assumed it was from Nicholas—a frantic apology gift because he'd forgotten our first anniversary. I had been so mad at him, so hurt by his carelessness, that I'd thrown it in the back of a drawer.

But it... it came from Matteo?

Oh my god. He sent it back then... and I threw it away because I thought it was from Nicholas? Oh, no...

I stared at the sparkling diamonds, my mind reeling.

"Not bad," I murmured, my voice hollow, as I fastened it around my wrist. It felt heavy.

Mr. Sullivan smiled, his eyes kind as he glanced at my outfit. "Heading somewhere, Miss Abby?"

"Yeah," I said, snapping back to the present. I grabbed my purse, the bracelet feeling cool against my skin. "I'm heading out. Please don't prepare anything for me tonight. Thank you, Mr. Sullivan."

I stepped out of the villa, the evening air cool on my face. My gaze kept drifting back to the bracelet, the diamonds catching the twilight.

I whispered his name to the empty air, a question and a statement all in one.

"Matteo. It was you... huh? even back then."

I drove my own car, heading straight for the Four Seasons Hotel. I was supposed to meet Lia there. Yes, that Lia. My best friend also happened to be a reporter in the entertainment industry, and she was covering this very press conference.

When I arrived, slipping in through a side entrance Lia had told me about, the interview was still in full swing, though it looked like it was winding down.

It was a total circus. Nicholas was on stage, dabbing at a non-existent tear, while reporters hung on his every heartbroken word.

I scanned the room and spotted Lia near the back, standing by a camera rig. She wasn't holding a mic; she was just glaring at Nicholas with a look of such concentrated hate I almost laughed.

I was trying to catch her eye, maybe give her a little wave, and I took a step backward to get out of a waiter's path.

I backed right into something. Or rather, someone.

It wasn't like hitting a normal person; it was like hitting a solid wall.

I spun around, my apology dying on my lips. My eyes widened.

"M-Matteo," I whispered, my heart leaping into my throat.

He was just standing there, hands in the pockets of his impeccable suit, watching the spectacle on stage with a look of bored amusement. I was so close, our bodies nearly flush. I immediately took a stumbling step back, needing the space.

"W-What," I stammered, "what are you doing here?"