CHAPTER 70

TONIGHT, YOU PASSED…

The salon was quiet now, its fire burned down to embers, but Abigail could still feel the weight of the evening pressing against her chest. She walked slowly through the marble halls of the estate, Luke’s hand resting gently on her back, steadying her.

Neither of them spoke until they had crossed into the privacy of their wing. Only when the heavy double doors shut behind them did Abigail let her shoulders slump, releasing a long breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

Luke watched her silently for a moment. Then he reached forward, gently lifting her chin so that her gaze met his. His blue eyes held no judgment, only something quieter something that made Abigail’s heart tremble.

“You were remarkable tonight,” he said softly.

Her lips parted, her first instinct to argue, to downplay it, but his expression was unshakable. She gave a small, tired smile instead. “It didn’t feel remarkable. It felt like walking through a room full of knives.”

Luke chuckled low in his throat, pulling her closer. “That’s because it was. But you walked through without a single cut.”

Abigail leaned against him, her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I almost faltered,” she whispered. “When Obetta said those things, when she twisted it… for a moment, I thought I’d lose control. I thought Kate would see me for what I really am someone who doesn’t belong here.”

Luke stilled. He tilted her face toward his again, his voice firmer now. “Abigail, listen to me. Belonging isn’t something they give you. It’s something you take. Tonight, you didn’t just belong, you outshone them. Even my mother saw it.”

That last admission caught her off guard. Abigail searched his face. “Kate… she approved?”

Luke exhaled, stepping away to unbutton his jacket. He tossed it aside, his expression thoughtful. “She didn’t approve. Not yet. But she’s curious. That’s more dangerous, but also more powerful. My mother doesn’t waste her curiosity on anyone she deems unworthy.”

Abigail sat at the edge of their bed, her hands clasped. “So, what does that mean for me?”

Luke looked at her, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “It means she’s going to test you again. In her own way. And it means you’ll have to keep proving yourself. But tonight…” He lowered himself beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Tonight, you passed.”

Her eyes stung unexpectedly, and she blinked hard, refusing to let tears fall. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. “Then I’ll keep walking through the knives,” she whispered. “As long as you’re with me.”

Luke’s arms tightened around her. “Always.”

But in another corner of the estate, in a private chamber lit by only a single candelabra, Obetta sat rigidly in a chair while Carmen paced the room like a caged predator.

The silence stretched until Obetta could no longer bear it. “I tried, Carmen,” she blurted. “I tried to make her slip, but she she turned it around on me.”

Carmen’s head snapped toward her, eyes glinting with cold fury. “You embarrassed yourself,” she said flatly. “And worse, you strengthened her. Every time you stumble, you polish her shine.”

Obetta’s face flushed with shame. “Then tell me what to do. I’ll do it. I just… I can’t stand her.”

Carmen resumed her pacing, her fingers tapping against her folded arms. “Hatred makes you sloppy. Do you know why Abigail is dangerous?”

Obetta hesitated. “…Because Luke protects her?”

“No.” Carmen stopped abruptly, her voice like a blade. “Because she is learning restraint. Because she does not strike when provoked, but waits, listens, and then disarms with words. That is far more dangerous than any tantrum.”

Obetta shifted in her seat, frowning. “Then how do we fight her? If I can’t provoke her”

“You let her provoke herself,” Carmen cut in. Her eyes narrowed, the candlelight catching the sharp planes of her face. “Everyone has limits. Everyone. Even she. We must find hers.”

Obetta tilted her head, unsure. “And how?”

Carmen moved closer, leaning down so her voice was a whisper, her breath brushing against Obetta’s ear. “By patience. By shadows. We will not attack her directly. We will create circumstances. Situations where she must reveal more than she wants. Where her composure will fracture not because of you, but because of herself.”

Obetta swallowed hard, caught between fear and fascination. “Situations… like what?”

A thin smile curved Carmen’s lips. “Leave that to me.”

Back in the master suite, Abigail changed slowly into her nightgown, her movements deliberate, almost ritualistic. The adrenaline from the evening still hummed beneath her skin, leaving her restless.

Luke sat on the edge of the bed, watching her, his expression unreadable.

Finally, she turned, frowning lightly. “You’re quiet.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “I was thinking about what you said tonight. About heritage being a cage.”

Abigail stilled. “Did I say too much?”

“No,” Luke said quickly. “You said exactly what you needed to. But it struck me… you were speaking about more than them, weren’t you?”

She hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded. “I was speaking about you, too. About us. About how you’ve been bound by the Vandell name your entire life. How you’ve had to carry it like a shield and a weapon. And I don’t want to become a cage for you either, Luke.”

His brows drew together, and he rose, crossing to her in two strides. He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “You could never be a cage to me. Abigail, you are the only freedom I’ve ever known.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment the heaviness of the evening lifted, replaced by the warmth of his words. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.

“I’ll hold onto that,” she whispered.

“You’d better,” he murmured, pressing his lips softly to her forehead.

Later, when Abigail finally drifted into a fitful sleep, Luke remained awake, lying on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He replayed the evening over and over the sharpness of the questions, the way his mother’s gaze lingered on Abigail, the subtle tremor in Obetta’s voice.

He knew a storm was brewing. He could feel it in the quiet spaces, in the way Carmen had left the salon without a word. She was not finished. She would never be finished.

Luke turned his head, watching Abigail’s peaceful face in sleep, and a vow formed silently in his chest: whatever came, whatever storms Carmen and Obetta brewed, he would stand between them and her.

But he also knew tonight had proven it that Abigail wasn’t as fragile as they believed. She was steel wrapped in silk. And that made her dangerous to her enemies… and valuable to his mother.

Meanwhile, Carmen finally dismissed Obetta with a wave of her hand. The young woman left reluctantly, closing the door behind her.

Carmen remained by the window, staring out into the moonlit gardens, her mind weaving threads of possibility.

Kate had shown her hand tonight. She was testing Abigail, inch by inch, measuring her worth. That meant Abigail’s survival no longer depended only on Luke’s affection. If Kate decided to favor her, to even respect her, then Carmen’s position would weaken.

Carmen would not allow that.

She tapped her nails lightly against the glass, her voice a whisper only the night could hear.

“You may have passed tonight, Abigail. But you will not always.”

Her reflection stared back at her sharp, composed, unyielding. And in the shadows, a plan began to take shape.

Morning came quietly, with sunlight breaking over the estate. Abigail woke to find Luke still at her side, his arm draped protectively around her waist. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself the illusion of peace.

But deep down, she knew peace was temporary. She knew Carmen would not rest, and neither would Kate. Every day from now on would be a test.

And Abigail, though afraid, whispered a silent vow to herself.

She would not break.

Not for Carmen.

Not for Obetta.

Not even for Kate.

If this world was a cage, she would not be trapped in it. She would bend its bars, reshape it, until it became her own.