CHAPTER 49

I INTEND TO, AS LONG AS I HAVE TO..

Abigail was still tying the belt of her robe when the faint chime of the Vandell estate’s front gate reached her ears. It was so early that she instinctively assumed it must be a delivery or perhaps a staff member returning late from an errand.

She padded across the room to check the time just after nine. Luke had left before dawn, as he’d been doing for the past few days cause he had businesses to handle, leaving only the lingering scent of his cologne on the sheets. The house had been quieter without him; she’d told herself she didn’t mind the stillness, but in truth, it sometimes felt like the walls were listening.

The intercom buzzed, jolting her from thought. The butler’s polite, measured voice followed through the small speaker by the wall.

“Madam, there is a Ms. Obetta here to see you.”

Abigail froze for half a second. Obetta?

The name alone carried a peculiar weight. They weren’t friends, not even acquaintances, more like two opposing pieces on a chessboard who had, on more than one occasion, crossed paths in settings thick with polite hostility..she was Luke's ex and whom Kate Luke's mom wanted for her son.

She could still remember the charity gala months ago, when Obetta had smiled across the table while making a remark sharp enough to cut glass. The woman had a way of delivering venom as though it were perfume subtle, sweet, but still deadly.

Her first instinct was to refuse outright. Luke wasn’t home, and she didn’t owe Obetta the courtesy of her time. But something in her curiosity, perhaps made her hesitate. Declining would feel like letting Obetta win before the match even began.

“Let her in,” Abigail said finally.

Minutes later, the sound of heels clicking against marble echoed from the foyer. Obetta stepped in like someone rehearsing a scene, every movement deliberate. Her hair was glossy and swept back, her silk blouse cream-white and tucked neatly into a charcoal pencil skirt that hugged her hips. Her heels were the sort you wore to be noticed, and her perfume a rich, floral scent reached Abigail before her words did.

“Abigail,” Obetta said smoothly, her smile almost convincing. “You look… comfortable.” Her eyes flicked over the robe as if it were some kind of personal failing.

Abigail folded her arms, expression unreadable. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, I’m not here for long.” Obetta strolled in without being invited further, setting her designer purse on a side table like it was her own home. “I just thought it might be kind to give you a dose of reality before you get too lost in your little… fantasy.”

Abigail’s voice was flat. “Go on.”

Obetta’s lips curved with something close to pity. “You do realize Luke Vandell isn’t the kind of man who stays put, don’t you? Men like him they get bored. And when he does, you’ll find yourself back where you started. Maybe worse.”

Abigail’s pulse didn’t quicken, but she felt the shift the deliberate jab.

“And this fantasy,” Obetta went on, gesturing loosely to the room, “it’s just that. Temporary. You weren’t his first choice, Abigail. And you definitely won’t be his last.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Abigail took a step forward, her gaze steady. “You came all the way here just to predict my marriage’s expiration date? That’s… a commitment to negativity I almost admire.”

Obetta tilted her head slightly, her eyes gleaming like she’d scored a point. “I came because I thought you should know what the rest of us already do. It’ll save you from embarrassment later.”

Abigail’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “The rest of you? You mean the people who still care enough to wonder about Luke’s personal life? That’s interesting.”

Something flickered in Obetta’s expression just for a second before her smile returned.

“No,” Abigail said softly, stepping closer. “This isn’t about saving me from embarrassment. This is about you hoping that you’re right. Hoping that the life you thought you’d humiliate me out of somehow falls apart. You want me to fail because my happiness bothers you.”

Obetta’s jaw tightened. “I’m just being realistic.”

“No,” Abigail repeated, her tone razor-sharp under its calm surface. “You’re being hopeful. Hopeful that Luke will wake up one morning and regret me. Hopeful that I’ll end up alone just so you can feel better about yourself. But here’s the reality, Obetta you already lost. You lost the moment he chose me.”

For the first time, the smile on Obetta’s face faltered.

Abigail took another step forward until they were barely two feet apart. “I know you like to think of yourself as the woman who could have been here instead of me. Maybe you even imagine you’d fit better. But Luke didn’t just choose me once he keeps choosing me. And no amount of perfume, silk blouses, or veiled insults will change that.”

The air between them felt electric, tight with unspoken things.

“You can tell yourself whatever makes you feel better,” Abigail continued, “but the truth is, I don’t measure my worth by your opinion or anyone else’s. And that, Obetta, is probably why I’m the one standing here, in this house, married to him while you're and will forever remain his forgotten ex my dear Obetta.”

Obetta’s lips parted, but no immediate comeback came. She blinked once, twice, recalibrating.

Finally, she gave a brittle little laugh. “Enjoy it while you can…while it lasts.”

Abigail’s faint smile didn’t waver. “Oh, I intend to as long as I have to.”

Obetta grabbed her purse, her heels clicking faster now as she made for the door. Her perfume lingered long after the butler closed it behind her, but the faint echo of her retreating footsteps felt like a victory in itself. She sure felt humiliated by whom she came to humiliate.

Abigail stood alone in the foyer for a moment, letting the quiet return. She didn’t need Luke to have seen it. This was her win, and it was enough.