CHAPTER 59

THEY CAN HATE YOU..

The mansion was quiet when they returned, its vast halls cloaked in shadows. The staff had long since retreated to their quarters, leaving only the distant hum of the chandeliers overhead. Abigail walked slowly, her heels clicking against the marble floor, her mind replaying every word from the Lois dinner.

Luke had been silent since they left the car. He didn’t seem angry, but there was a sharpness in his demeanor, a cool calculation that made her nervous. She followed him into his study, where he loosened his tie and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

Abigail lingered by the doorway, her fingers fiddling with the clasp of her purse. “Luke…” she began softly.

He glanced at her over the rim of his glass, waiting.

“Carmen helped me tonight. She… she spoke when the others didn’t. I don’t know why, but it mattered.”

Luke’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. He set the glass down with a deliberate clink. “And you think that means she’s your ally?”

Abigail swallowed. “I don’t know. But she didn’t let them tear me apart. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

He stepped closer, his presence filling the space, his gaze cutting through her hesitation. “Abigail,” he said, his voice low and controlled, “in that room, every word spoken was a move on a board you don’t yet see. Carmen didn’t defend you out of kindness. She did it because it served her.”

Abigail frowned. “Then why? What could she gain?”

Luke tilted his head, studying her. “Power. Position. Leverage. The Loises aren’t united they compete even among themselves. Carmen will use you if it benefits her. Don’t mistake that for loyalty and once it's happening they don't care people are only on about what benefits them”

His hand lifted, brushing her jaw with the edge of his fingers, tilting her face up to his. “You gave her too much weight in your mind. That weakens you.”

Her chest tightened. “I just… I wanted to believe someone in that room didn’t hate me.”

Luke’s gaze softened only slightly, but his grip stayed firm. “They can hate you. They can test you. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you hold your ground. That’s what you did tonight. That’s why I brought you there.”

Abigail’s throat burned with unshed emotion. “You didn’t help me,” she whispered, not accusing but confessing the ache.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” he replied instantly. His thumb brushed against her cheek, a rare gentleness threading through the gesture. “If I shield you every time, you’ll never learn to stand. And you did stand, Abigail. Better than they expected.”

Her lips parted, and for a moment, the tension between them shifted. She saw in his eyes, the pride he wouldn’t put into words, the quiet recognition of her strength.

Later, in their bedroom, Abigail sat at the edge of the bed, her gown pooling around her. She replayed his words again and again. Don’t give her credit. Don’t depend on anyone but yourself.

Luke emerged from the bathroom, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair damp from a quick rinse. He crossed the room with the same measured steps as always, but there was something different in the air charged, watchful.

“Tell me,” he said, sitting beside her, “what did you learn tonight?”

Abigail hesitated. “That… wealth doesn’t make people kinder. That I’ll always be tested.” She looked down at her hands, then up at him. “And that you won’t save me, not there.”

His mouth curved, sharp and approving. “Good. Anything else?”

Her pulse quickened under his scrutiny. “That maybe… maybe I’m stronger than I thought.”

This time, his smile reached his eyes. He leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that was fierce, claiming, and laced with unspoken pride. Abigail melted into him, the heat of his touch grounding her after a night of strain.

He deepened the kiss, pushing her gently back against the bed. His weight pressed over hers, steady and commanding. “That’s the answer I wanted to hear,” he murmured against her lips.

Abigail’s fingers curled into his shirt, her heart racing. “Luke…” she breathed, half a plea, half a surrender.

“You’ll remember tonight,” he said, his voice low and rough as his hands traced her waist. “Not for their words but for how you defied them. That’s what makes you mine.”

Her body burned under his touch, her mind fogging as his mouth moved along her throat. This wasn’t just passion, it was confirmation, a ritual of claiming after the battlefield of society.

Abigail arched beneath him, every nerve alight. The doubts that had haunted her earlier dissolved in the press of his body, the certainty of his hold. He wasn’t gentle, he was deliberate, commanding, yet each movement told her exactly what he saw: a woman who had proven herself.

When he finally drew her to the peak, whispering her name in that rough, possessive tone, Abigail realized something with startling clarity.

This was what it meant to belong to Luke Vandell. Not comfort, not softness, but strength forged through fire.

Hours later, as the first hints of dawn brushed the sky, Abigail lay tangled in the sheets beside him. Her body was exhausted, but her mind still spun.

“Luke,” she whispered into the quiet, “what if Carmen does come to me again? What if she really does want to… help?”

His eyes opened slowly, dark and unwavering even in the dim light. “Then you’ll listen. But never depend. And you’ll tell me everything.”

She nodded, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I will.”

For the first time that night, he let his arm drape over her waist, pulling her closer. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Good. Because as long as you stand beside me, no one, not Carmen, not the Loises, not anyone will take you down.”

Abigail closed her eyes, sinking into the warmth of his chest. The doubts hadn’t vanished, but they no longer held the same weight.

She wasn’t just enduring anymore. She was learning.

And with Luke at her side, she was determined to rise.