CHAPTER 22

YOU WANTED FREEDOM...

The storm from the night before had passed, leaving the world outside washed clean. Sunlight poured through the windows in sharp streaks, warming the cold marble floors. Luke's estate was quiet except for the occasional murmur of staff moving in and out of rooms.

Abigail sat at the long dining table, her fingers wrapped loosely around a coffee cup. Her appetite was gone. She’d barely touched the omelet on her plate.

Across from her, Luke was a silhouette of control immaculate black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, every button a reminder of the man who could shatter her world with one word.

He didn’t speak. He never did when his thoughts were a storm behind those dark eyes.

Finally, Abigail broke the silence, her voice cautious. “Are we still leaving today?”

Luke’s eyes lifted from his phone, steady and unreadable. “No.”

The word was flat, final.

Her brows knitted. “But last night you said”

“I changed my mind.” He placed the phone down with a muted click and reached for his coffee. “We stay here until I say otherwise.”

Abigail’s heart did a strange little twist. Part of her wanted to ask why. The other part knew better.

Instead, she nodded and took a slow sip of her drink, letting the silence stretch until it felt unbearable.

It was Luke who spoke next, his tone measured. “What do you need today?”

The question caught her off guard. She blinked. “What do I need?”

“Yes,” he said without looking at her, scanning something on his tablet now. “Clothes. Shoes. Whatever.”

Her stomach dipped. Was this his way of making up for last night’s ice-cold withdrawal? “Actually…” She hesitated, fingers curling around her cup. “I was thinking of going to the boutique downtown. There are a few things I need to pick up.”

Luke’s head lifted slowly, his gaze locking on hers with that dangerous calm that made her heart hammer. “Alone?”

She swallowed. “Yes. I just I need a little space. To clear my head.”

A beat of silence. His jaw ticked once, then he set the tablet down completely.

“No.”

That single syllable hit harder than a shout.

Abigail frowned. “Luke, it’s just a quick trip. No one even knows where I...”

“You’re not going anywhere alone,” he cut in, voice low and lethal. “Not now. Not ever, especially not in this present situation. Do you understand?”

Her pulse spiked. Something hot and frustrated burned in her chest. “So what? You’re going to keep me locked up here forever?”

His eyes narrowed, the air in the room tightening. “Don’t push me, Abigail.”

She stared at him, defiance warring with the memory of his mouth on hers, the way he had made her feel like she mattered for one fleeting second. “I’m not pushing you. I’m asking for a little freedom.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, studying her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t decide whether to solve or break apart. Then, without a word, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a sleek black card, placing it on the table between them.

“Take the guards,” he said finally, his voice soft but sharp enough to slice through her anger. “Buy whatever you want.”

Abigail stared at the card. The weight of it felt heavier than gold, heavier than the unspoken power shift it represented.

Her throat worked. “Luke…”

“You wanted freedom,” he said, his gaze pinning her in place. “That’s the only version you get. Don’t make me regret it.”

The challenge in his tone made her blood thrum. She wanted to scream, wanted to throw the card back in his face. But another part of her a darker, curious part wondered what it would feel like to walk into that boutique with his name burning on every purchase.

Abigail slid the card off the table slowly, her fingers brushing the cool surface like it might bite her.

Luke watched her with a calm that wasn’t calm at all.

“Be ready in twenty minutes,” he said. “They’ll take you.”

And just like that, he rose and walked out, leaving her staring at the black card like it was both a leash and of control and status, leaving Abigail conflicted. 

Abigail’s fingers lingered on the black card long after Luke had left the room. It wasn’t just a piece of plastic, it was a reminder. Of control, of ownership. Of the fact that this life wasn’t hers.

She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and headed upstairs. Her heels echoed in the wide, silent halls like whispers of a truth she couldn’t outrun.

In the bathroom, steam curled around her as hot water cascaded over her skin. Abigail braced her palms against the cold marble, head bowed as the spray soaked her hair, washing away the scent of fear and adrenaline still clinging from last night.

But it couldn’t wash away the thoughts.

One year. That was all this marriage was supposed to be a contract. Twelve months of playing wife to a man who treated feelings like weaknesses, who could be gentle one second and a storm the next.

Although it didn't sound simple when she signed it. Clean. Controlled. No emotions, no complications. Just… a little convenience of her debt.

So why did her chest tighten every time he looked at her like that? Why did her body betray her every time he came too close?

Abigail shut off the water with a frustrated twist, grabbing a towel and wrapping it tight around her. She didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to want him she didn't want to long him in a way that he obviously wouldn't not even in the nearest future.

Yet as she slipped into the emerald dress she’d chosen earlier, smoothing the fabric over her hips, she wondered what the hell she was doing dressing up for a man who had made it very clear this wasn’t real. She just wished this was all a dream and would wake up sooner or later.

Except sometimes just sometimes it felt too real.

And that terrified her more than the storm outside ever did.