CHAPTER 43

MAYBE I DON'T DO HEALTHY...

The next morning was heavy with the kind of silence that made the air feel thick. Abigail woke alone, the sheets beside her already cold. The faint scent of his cologne lingered, but there was no sign of Luke no note, no sound of movement in the adjoining room.

It shouldn’t have stung the way it did, but after last night’s fire between them, she had expected at least a trace of warmth this morning. Instead, he had vanished back into that self-contained world he controlled so well, as if nothing had changed.

Abigail lingered in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, the ache of confusion settling deeper in her chest. She had learned enough about Luke to know that he didn’t bend for anyone not for enemies, not for business partners, not for family. And yet, last night… she had felt him bend.

Or had she imagined it?

When she finally made her way downstairs, Kate was already in the breakfast room, reading the paper with her coffee. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting warm gold across the room. Kate glanced up, her eyes soft but searching.

“You’re up late,” Kate remarked, setting the paper aside.

“I didn’t sleep well but not like you care though,” Abigail admitted, taking a seat across from her.

Kate’s gaze was steady. “Luke left early. Something at the company.”

Abigail nodded as if it were nothing, but Kate wasn’t fooled.

“You know,” Kate said slowly, “he’s not used to… letting people in. When he feels something shifting, he holds tighter to the parts of himself he thinks are safe.”

Abigail’s lips curved faintly. “Safe from what?”

“From being seen,” Kate replied without hesitation. “And when he thinks someone’s gotten too close, he builds the walls back up. Higher than before.”

Abigail’s fingers toyed with the edge of her napkin. “That sounds exhausting.”

Kate gave a small, almost knowing smile. “For him or for the person trying to love him?”

The question hung in the air long after Kate left the room.

The rest of the morning dragged. Abigail wandered through the halls, each room steeped in its own kind of quiet. Every hallway, every corner of the estate seemed to carry a ghost of the night before the warmth of his hands, the pull of his mouth, the way he’d looked at her like he might devour her. And now? Now the distance was palpable.

By early afternoon, she found herself pacing the length of the library, her mind churning. She hated that she cared so much about whether he came home early or late. She hated that she was watching the clock for him like some lovesick girl. But more than anything, she hated the gnawing uncertainty this pendulum swing between heat and ice.

When the sky began to turn gold and orange, she almost convinced herself he wouldn’t be back before midnight. But then, through the open windows, she heard the low, powerful hum of his car pulling into the driveway.

Her pulse kicked. She stilled, listening to the sound of his footsteps echoing against the marble floor.

The door opened. Luke stepped inside, sharp in a dark suit, his tie loosened just enough to look deliberate. His gaze flicked to her briefly before he turned away, heading toward the living room without a word.

Abigail followed, drawn by equal parts frustration and need. “You’ve been gone all day,” she said, her tone careful but edged.

He shrugged out of his jacket. “I had things to handle.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all you need to know,” he replied, pouring himself a drink. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, catching the light. His movements were precise, controlled, as though even pouring whiskey had to be done without flaw.

Something in her tightened. “After last night, I thought”

He set the glass down with a soft click, turning toward her fully. His eyes locked on hers, cool and steady. “Last night was what it was. Don’t read too much into it.”

The words landed like ice water, running down her spine.

Abigail’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “You’re impossible, Luke.”

His mouth twitched not quite a smile, not quite mockery. “And you knew that before you ever stepped into my life.”

She crossed her arms. “Sometimes I think you like being difficult just to see how far you can push me Luke vandell.”she called out his full name.

“Maybe,” he said simply, sipping his drink.

Her voice sharpened. “That’s not a healthy way to treat someone you claim to care about.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes giving away nothing. “Maybe I don’t do ‘healthy,’ Abigail. Maybe I do what works for me and really that's the best.”

It was like speaking to a locked door. No matter how hard she knocked, he decided whether or not to open it and right now, he wasn’t opening it at all.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint clink of glass as he set his drink down again. Then Luke stepped past her, his presence brushing against her like a shadow, leaving her with the faint, maddening scent of his cologne.

The conversation was over at least for him.

Abigail stayed where she was, her arms still folded, feeling the familiar mix of anger and yearning twist through her. She had thought she was strong enough to handle the way he withdrew. But the truth was, every time he did, it scraped something raw inside her.

Upstairs that night, she waited, half-hoping he’d come into her room, even just to argue. But when the house finally went still, she knew he’d gone back to sleeping in his own room and that hurt her the more.

Just like before.

The wall was back, taller than ever she doesn't even know if she can survive this one.

And this time, she didn’t know if she had the strength to climb it.