CHAPTER 32

LET THEM WHISPER...

The invitation wasn’t really an invitation. It was an announcement.

A thick cream envelope lay on Abigail’s vanity when she walked into the bedroom that morning, her name written in elegant calligraphy. She opened it, expecting something personal, but instead found the embossed seal of the Vandell Corporation at the top.

Luke was adjusting his cufflinks in the mirror.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding it up.

He didn’t even glance at the card. “Annual Charity gala. I’m hosting.”

“And I’m going,” she said, more a statement than a question.

He met her gaze in the reflection, one brow raised. “Naturally.”

She set the envelope down, leaning against the vanity. “Do you want me there because I’m your wife or because you want them to see me?”

His hands stilled for a moment, then resumed their work. “Both.”

It wasn’t a romantic answer. It was an honest one.

The night of the gala came with cold air and bright lights. The Vandell Tower lobby had been transformed into something out of a magazine white marble gleaming beneath crystal chandeliers, tables dressed in silk, champagne glasses catching the light like tiny suns.

Luke’s hand rested at the small of her back as they entered, drawing attention before they’d even reached the reception area. Abigail could feel the eyes, the half-hidden glances, the way some guests subtly leaned toward one another to whisper.

He felt it too she could tell by the way his fingers pressed slightly firmer against her spine, guiding her through the crowd like a possession he refused to let be questioned.

“Smile,” he murmured without looking at her.

She did. Not because he told her to, but because she wanted to.

The first hour was a blur of greetings, polite nods, and introductions that barely disguised inspection. Every handshake was a test, every compliment wrapped in something sharper.

“She’s stunning, Luke,” a tall woman in emerald silk said, her voice warm but her eyes cool as they flicked over Abigail. “Not what I expected.”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “That’s the point, Vivienne.”

The woman’s smile faltered before she excused herself, leaving Abigail to swallow her own retort.

At their table, Luke pulled her chair out for her. They sat with senior executives and their spouses, some of whom were friendlier than others. A few leaned into conversation with genuine interest; others seemed more fascinated by what she was wearing than what she was saying.

Midway through the meal, she overheard a hushed exchange from two seats down.

“…married so quickly, no one even knew they were seeing each other…”

“…she doesn’t have the background, the connections…”

She kept her expression neutral, but Luke’s hand found hers under the table, his thumb brushing against her knuckles in slow, grounding circles.

After dinner, speeches began. Luke was called to the stage, his dark suit cutting a sharp figure under the spotlight. His voice carried easily, steady and authoritative, but it was the way his eyes found her in the crowd that caught her breath.

When the applause came, it was polite but not warm at least not from everyone. Abigail could feel certain gazes still measuring her, still deciding whether she belonged.

The ballroom began to loosen after the formalities. Guests moved to the dance floor or drifted toward the champagne fountains. Abigail excused herself to step out onto the terrace for a breath of cool night air.

She wasn’t alone for long.

“I have to say,” came a voice from behind, smooth but edged with something darker, “you certainly drew attention tonight.”

She turned to find Vivienne from earlier, glass of wine in hand.

Abigail smiled faintly. “That seems to be the theme lately.”

Vivienne’s lips curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Attention can be dangerous here. Luke’s always been… private. People will wonder why you’re suddenly the exception.”

“I don’t really care what they wonder,” Abigail said calmly.

“That’s wise,” Vivienne replied, taking a sip. “Just be careful. This world has sharp teeth.”

“I’m aware,” Abigail said, her voice still even. “But Luke doesn’t exactly choose women who can’t handle themselves.”

The older woman’s eyes narrowed slightly before she offered a polite nod and drifted away.

When Abigail reentered the ballroom, Luke was speaking with a cluster of investors near the bar. His posture was relaxed, but there was an alertness in his eyes that told her he’d seen her conversation with Vivienne from across the room.

He excused himself and crossed to her, his hand sliding to her hip as he leaned close. “What did she say?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Abigail replied.

“I’m sure,” he murmured, but the edge in his tone didn’t fade.

The evening wound down with the usual gala ritual last toasts, final bids from the silent auction, and a slow song to close the night. Luke led her to the dance floor, his arm wrapping around her waist, their bodies swaying in time with the music.

His hand was firm at her back, his eyes fixed on hers. “You did well tonight,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t performing,” she murmured.

“I know. That’s why it worked.”

She tilted her head. “And the whispers?”

He smirked faintly. “Let them whisper. They’ll run out of breath eventually.”

For the first time that night, she laughed a quiet, genuine sound that seemed to ease something in him.

When they returned home, the air between them felt different charged not with tension, but with something sharper, more intimate.

Luke poured them each a glass of wine in the drink shelve at the large sitting room, then leaned back against the counter, watching her over the rim of his glass.

“You didn’t flinch,” he said finally.

“I told you,” she replied. “I’m not here to be small.”

His eyes darkened slightly, setting the glass down before crossing the room to her. “No. You’re here to take up space. To make them see you.”

His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss that was slow but unyielding, the kind that erased the rest of the night.

When they finally broke apart, his voice was a low murmur against her lips. “And they will see you, Abigail. Every last one of them.”

That night, as she lay in his arms, she realized something Luke wasn’t just letting her into his world. He was handing her a place in it. And if that came with whispers, she would meet them head-on.

Because she wasn’t just surviving the sharp edges.

She was learning to use them.