CHAPTER 105

YOU'RE MINE..

The evening breeze swirled softly through the wide windows of the Vandell estate. Abigail sat on the edge of her bed, carefully unpacking the shopping bags from her day out with Maya. Neatly folded dresses were stacked on one side, jewelry boxes lined the dresser, and delicate shoes gleamed under the lamp’s light. For the first time in a while, she felt… lighter. The laughter she’d shared with Maya lingered like a pleasant echo in her chest.

Still, no matter how much she tried, her mind wouldn’t let go of Oscar Dixon.

The way he’d appeared, like he had stepped straight out of nowhere. The way he’d spoken to her  calm, steady, protective in a way that unsettled her. His words hadn’t been dramatic, yet they clung to her skin. She shook her head, forcing herself to fold another blouse. Luke’s face floated into her mind instead. His sharp jaw, the cold strength of his eyes when he was displeased. He had already warned her about Oscar. He knew something. And now, she was torn between telling him and staying silent.

In the end, she said nothing.

By the time she crawled into bed, exhaustion pulled her under.

Downstairs, Luke had arrived later than usual, his mood unreadable as he dismissed the driver and strode into his office. His jacket hung loosely over one arm, his tie already loosened. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light. He had been restless all day, his instincts sharp, his mind circling the thought of Oscar Dixon.

He didn’t trust him. He had never trusted anyone, the Dixon family he knew had a son, but he didn't know if it was Oscar. He never had.

It wasn’t the Dixon name though that was enough. It was Oscar himself. Too polished, too smooth, too careful in the way he moved through rooms as if he owned them. And Luke, a man who trusted nothing but evidence and instinct, had felt the warning flare the moment Oscar stepped between Abigail and Obetta weeks ago.

Tonight, his suspicion was confirmed.

The knock at his office door was soft but firm. Daniel, one of his most trusted men, entered after Luke’s permission. He bowed his head slightly before placing a thin folder on the desk.

“You asked me to watch Dixon, sir.”

Luke’s eyes sharpened. “And?”

Daniel opened the folder, spreading out a few photos. “This was taken at the Riverton Mall today. He crossed paths with Madam Abigail and Miss Maya.”

The photos weren’t crystal clear, but they didn’t need to be. Luke’s jaw clenched as he leaned forward, eyes locking on the image of his wife. Abigail, arms full of shopping bags, standing in front of Oscar Dixon. The young man’s gaze was fixed on her with that same irritating intensity Luke had come to hate.

He didn’t even need to read the brief report that followed. The pictures said enough.

“She didn’t mention this,” Luke murmured, his voice low, dangerous.

Daniel shifted uneasily. “From what we observed, Dixon approached them. Madam Abigail did not encourage conversation. She appeared… startled. Miss Maya, however, was defensive.”

Luke’s hand tightened around his glass until the crystal almost cracked. He set it down carefully before speaking again. “Leave me.”

Daniel bowed and left without another word.

The silence that followed pressed heavy against Luke’s chest. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the photos until they blurred. He wasn’t angry at Abigail  not entirely. But a storm churned inside him, one that made his blood heat and his patience thin.

Why hadn’t she told him?

That question burned hotter than the image of Oscar’s hazel eyes fixed on her. She had chosen silence. Chosen to keep this from him. And that, more than anything, felt like a betrayal.

When he finally went upstairs, the house was quiet. He entered their bedroom, the sight of her asleep hitting him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. She lay curled beneath the sheets, her hair spread like silk across the pillow, her breathing soft and even. Innocent. Untouched by the storm brewing in his chest.

For a long time, Luke stood at the edge of the bed, his shadow falling over her. A thousand thoughts clawed at him. Part of him wanted to wake her, demand answers, unleash the fury simmering inside. Another part the part only she had managed to awaken in him wanted to let her rest, to keep his anger buried until morning.

In the end, he chose silence. He stripped out of his shirt, showered quickly, and slid into bed beside her. He didn’t pull her close as he usually did. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning with thoughts of Oscar Dixon and the secrets he held back.

Abigail stirred in her sleep, instinctively reaching for him. Her hand brushed his arm, seeking warmth. For a brief second, Luke’s resolve cracked. His fingers twitched, almost moving to cover hers. But then he remembered the photos, the silence, the way Oscar’s gaze had lingered. He turned slightly, pulling his arm away.

Abigail frowned faintly in her sleep, shifting closer without waking. Luke exhaled, the sound heavy, filled with restraint.

Morning came with golden light spilling across the curtains. Abigail woke slowly, stretching before rolling toward him. He was already up, dressed, his tie perfectly knotted, his expression unreadable as he adjusted his cufflinks at the dresser.

“You’re awake early,” she murmured, still groggy.

Luke glanced at her briefly, his face a mask. “I have business to handle.” His voice was clipped, controlled.

Abigail sat up, confusion flickering across her features. “Is something wrong?”

His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than necessary. Then he turned away. “You tell me, Abigail.”

Her brows knit. “I… don’t understand.”

He said nothing more. He simply picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, leaving her sitting on the bed, stunned by the sudden chill in his tone.

The rest of the day unfolded under that same strain. Luke didn’t speak much at breakfast. His eyes barely lifted from his plate. When she asked about his schedule, he responded with clipped words. Abigail felt the distance like a wall rising between them, a wall she couldn’t explain.

By evening, the tension had coiled tight enough that she finally worked up the courage to approach him in his study. He was at his desk, papers spread before him, but she knew he wasn’t reading them. His jaw was too tight, his shoulders rigid.

“Luke,” she said softly, stepping inside. “Please… talk to me. What’s going on?”

His eyes lifted to hers slowly, dark and burning. “Where were you yesterday, Abigail?”

Her breath caught.

He had never asked her questions like that. Not in that tone.

“With Maya,” she said carefully. “We went shopping.”

“And that’s all?” His voice was sharp enough to cut.

Her heart stumbled. “Yes. That’s all.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Luke studied her face like a man dissecting truth from lies. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pushed a photo across the desk.

Abigail’s stomach dropped. It was her. Outside the mall. Bags in hand. And Oscar Dixon standing not three feet away.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Luke’s voice was low, dangerous. “So you forgot to mention this?”

“Luke, I…..”

“Don’t lie to me.” His hand slammed against the desk, the sound echoing through the room. His control slipped, his possessive fury laid bare. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I don’t already know exactly what Dixon is?”

Abigail flinched but lifted her chin. “I didn’t lie. He just… appeared. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it. He just stopped me.”

“Then why hide it?”

Her chest tightened painfully. She had no answer that would satisfy him. Silence stretched between them again, heavy and unyielding.

Luke’s eyes burned into hers, sharp and consuming. “You will not keep things from me, Abigail. Not him. Not ever.”

Her lips trembled, but she nodded faintly. “I understand.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then he stood, circling the desk until he was right before her. His hand caught her chin, tilting her face up. His touch was rough, his eyes blazing.

“You are mine,” he said quietly, each word edged with steel. “Do not let him forget that. And do not forget it yourself.”

Abigail’s breath hitched. She searched his face, torn between fear and the strange warmth that came whenever his possessiveness showed.

He kissed her then not tenderly, but fiercely, with the raw claim of a man unwilling to share what was his. And though her heart raced with unease, she kissed him back, her body trembling with the weight of what she now knew, Luke had found out on his own. And Oscar Dixon had only deepened the storm between them.