CHAPTER 66

IT WAS CHALLENGING..

The Vandell mansion was a place of understated grandeur. Its walls held not only wealth but secrets legacies of power and pride layered into every corner. And at the heart of it all sat Kate Vandell, matriarch of the family, a woman whose presence alone commanded respect.

It was mid-afternoon when Obetta arrived. Her heels clicked against the polished floors as she was escorted into Kate’s sitting room. Sunlight poured through tall windows, catching on the crystal vases and gilded frames, but nothing in the room shone brighter than Kate herself. She sat at a high-backed chair near the window, dressed elegantly in a deep emerald gown, pearls at her throat, a cup of tea poised delicately in her hand.

Obetta curtsied slightly in greeting. “Lady Vandell.”

Kate’s eyes swept over her, sharp as ever. She offered a small nod. “Obetta. You seem… restless. What brings you here unannounced?”

Obetta perched on the edge of the opposite seat, her expression a mix of indignation and forced composure. “It’s about Abigail.”

At the mention of the name, Kate’s lips twitched not into a frown, nor a smile, but something unreadable. She lifted her teacup, sipping slowly before setting it down with deliberate grace. “Go on.”

Obetta leaned forward, voice laced with scorn. “She embarrasses the family. She humiliates me at every turn. She acts like she belongs when she clearly doesn’t. And now, she drags Maya into these spectacles, using her as some shield. Surely you see how dangerous it is to let someone like her continue unchecked.”

Kate studied her quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. For a long moment, she let Obetta’s words hang in the air, as if weighing them. Finally, she spoke, her tone smooth but biting.

“Obetta, I find it fascinating,” Kate began, her gaze cool, “that with all your confidence, all your supposed superiority, you spend so much of your time consumed by one woman you claim is beneath you.”

Obetta’s mouth opened slightly, her words caught. “I…I only meant…”

Kate cut her off gently, but firmly. “If Abigail is truly as unworthy as you insist, why does she occupy so much of your energy? Why does her mere presence unravel you?”

The question landed like a slap, though Kate’s tone never rose, never lost its polish. Obetta flushed, her pride burning at the subtle insult.

Kate leaned back in her chair, regarding her with the same detached scrutiny she might afford an amateur performance. “I will give you a piece of advice, Obetta. A woman who spends her days complaining about another only reveals her own weakness. And weakness, in this family, is a luxury none of us can afford.”

Obetta stiffened, her pride bruised. “So you’re siding with her?”

Kate’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes held steel. “I am siding with sense. And sense tells me that pettiness is unbecoming.”

Obetta, realizing she had overplayed her hand, murmured a stiff farewell and excused herself. Her heels struck sharply against the floor as she exited, each step betraying her frustration.

The room fell quiet again, save for the faint ticking of the antique clock on the mantel. Kate turned her gaze toward the window, but her mind was elsewhere.

Abigail.

At first, Kate had been skeptical. She had seen countless women pass through these circles, each one desperate for validation, status, or wealth. Abigail had seemed no different, meek, uncertain, clinging to Luke’s name like a lifeline. But recently…

Recently, she had surprised her.

At the gala, Abigail had not only stood firm against public humiliation but done so with dignity. She had not been rattled. She had not begged for Luke’s defense. Instead, she had shown spine. And spine, Kate thought, was a quality not easily ignored.

Still, admiration was dangerous. To openly show favor was to tip one’s hand. Kate had no intention of revealing her thoughts not yet. No, if Abigail were to earn even a sliver of her respect, she would need to prove herself further.

Kate lifted her hand, ringing the small silver bell beside her. A maid appeared instantly.

“Send word to Abigail Vandell,” Kate said smoothly. “Tell her I would like her company this evening. Alone.”

The maid curtsied and hurried out.

Kate allowed herself the faintest of smiles. This would not be a social call. This would be a test.

Abigail received the summons just as dusk settled over the estate. She felt the familiar weight in her chest the knowledge that Kate rarely summoned anyone without purpose. Yet she did not hesitate. She dressed with care, choosing a gown of understated elegance, nothing too bold, nothing too meek.

When she arrived at Kate’s private sitting room, the elder woman was already waiting, poised as ever, a chessboard set between them on a low table.

“Mother Vandell,” Abigail greeted softly, inclining her head with respect.

“Sit,” Kate instructed, gesturing toward the chair opposite her. Her voice was calm, unreadable.

Abigail obeyed, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Kate studied her for a long moment, as though reading every thought behind her eyes. Finally, she spoke. “Do you play chess?”

Abigail blinked, surprised by the question. “I… I’ve learned the basics, yes.”

Kate’s lips curved faintly. “Good. Then you understand that every move carries weight. Every piece has value. And those who survive longest are not the strongest, but the most patient.”

She gestured toward the board. “Play with me.”

The match began. At first, Abigail’s movements were tentative, cautious. She studied the board carefully, unwilling to act rashly. Kate, however, played with elegant confidence, her strategy unfolding with quiet precision.

As the game progressed, Kate spoke casually, though her words were anything but idle. “Tell me, Abigail… what did you think of the gala?”

Abigail hesitated before answering, her eyes fixed on the board. “It was… challenging. But also revealing.”

“Revealing how?”

Abigail lifted her gaze, meeting Kate’s directly. “It showed me that not everyone who smiles is a friend. And that strength is not always loud it’s sometimes in how you choose not to break.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression remained composed. She made her next move, cornering one of Abigail’s knights. “Interesting. And Obetta? What do you think of her?”

Abigail inhaled slowly. “I think Obetta is clever… but her cleverness often betrays her. She lets pride guide her moves instead of patience. That makes her predictable.”

Kate’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. A check.

The game continued, Abigail growing more confident as she began to anticipate Kate’s moves. She lost pieces, yes, but she adapted quickly, never flustered, never reckless.

Finally, when Kate leaned forward, cornering Abigail’s king, the younger woman surprised her by countering with a clever sacrifice.

Kate blinked, her brows lifting faintly. Abigail had maneuvered her into a stalemate.

A silence stretched between them. Kate’s eyes lingered on the board, then on Abigail. Slowly, she leaned back, her expression unreadable.

“Not bad,” she murmured at last. “Not bad at all.”

Abigail offered a small, respectful smile. “Thank you, Mother Vandell.”

Kate said nothing more, dismissing her with a graceful wave of her hand. But when Abigail rose and left the room, Kate’s gaze followed her with a glint of something unspoken respect, hidden behind layers of caution.

She would not tell anyone. Not Luke. Not the others. But in the quiet chambers of her heart, Kate Vandell had begun to see Abigail not as a liability, but as a woman worthy of standing beside her son.

And for the first time, she wondered if Abigail might prove to be the ally she had never expected.