CHAPTER 95

I WONT' FALTER...

The next day was thick with silence. The Vandell estate stood in its usual grandeur, yet Abigail felt a strange heaviness pressing against the walls. It was the kind of tension one couldn’t see but could feel in the way the staff moved quickly, avoiding long conversations, in the way the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Abigail lingered by the window of her room, the late morning sun spilling across her shoulders. Her gaze drifted over the gardens below, but her mind was elsewhere. She thought of the look on Obetta’s face the last time they had crossed paths, how something wild and unsettled had lingered in her eyes.

The truth was simple: Obetta wasn’t giving up. She would rather burn herself than admit defeat.

The creak of the door pulled Abigail from her thoughts. Luke entered, his presence commanding even when he said nothing. He closed the door softly behind him, walking toward her with that calm, deliberate stride that always managed to quiet her restless mind.

“You’ve been standing here for a while,” he murmured.

Abigail smiled faintly, turning to him. “I was thinking.”

His brow lifted just slightly. “About her?”

She nodded. There was no need to name Obetta; they both knew who lingered between their words.

Luke slipped a hand into his pocket, standing beside her to look out the same window. His face was composed, but his eyes sharpened as though he could see far beyond the hedges, past the gate, past the calm façade of the estate.

“She’s desperate,” he said finally. “That makes her reckless. Desperation can be dangerous, Abigail. It strips people of patience, of reason.”

Her chest tightened. “So you’re expecting her to strike.”

“I would be disappointed if she didn’t.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, though his tone was steady, almost cold. She looked up at him, studying the calm curve of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble there. For a moment, she wondered how he managed it how he could stay so composed when the ground trembled beneath them.

“And us?” she asked softly. “What do we do?”

Luke’s gaze shifted down to her. “We prepare. And we don’t flinch.”

There was something in his voice that steadied her, like an anchor against the storm. She nodded, breathing out slowly. She would stand with him.

Across the city, Obetta was unraveling.

She sat in the back of her car, dark glasses shielding her eyes as she watched the passing streets. Her driver spoke nothing, wisely silent, but Obetta’s mind buzzed like a swarm of angry bees.

She couldn’t sleep the night before. Images of Abigail kept clawing at her the girl’s composed smile, her silence that was not weakness but quiet strength. It infuriated Obetta. Luke’s wife wasn’t supposed to look untouchable. She wasn’t supposed to stand against her without shaking.

Obetta gripped her phone tightly. She had been patient for too long. Now she needed to remind Abigail and Luke that she wasn’t irrelevant.

She pulled out her phone, dialing a number she hadn’t used in years. It rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

“Obetta.”

“I need something done,” she said flatly. “Today.”

The man chuckled darkly. “Still the queen of commands, I see. What’s the job?”

Her lips pressed thin. “An interruption. A reminder. Nothing that leaves blood, but enough to make her feel small again.”

There was a pause, then the man replied, “Consider it done.”

She ended the call, her pulse quickening. For the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of control returning.

Back at the estate, Abigail joined Luke in his study. Papers lay neatly arranged across his desk, but he set them aside when she entered.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, motioning for her to sit. She did, folding her hands in her lap.

“There’s something you need to understand,” Luke began. His tone was calm but firm, like a teacher about to impart a lesson that mattered. “Obetta thrives on fear. Every scheme, every word, is meant to shake your footing. The moment you falter, she wins.”

Abigail’s eyes lifted to his. “And if I don’t falter?”

His lips curved faintly, almost proud. “Then she destroys herself trying.”

Abigail’s heart softened at the look in his eyes. He believed in her, even when she doubted herself. That faith was enough to straighten her spine, to make her resolve sharper.

“I won’t falter,” she said quietly.

Luke reached across the desk, his hand covering hers. “I know.”

By evening, the reminder Obetta had ordered was set in motion.

Abigail and Maya had gone into the city for a quiet dinner together something normal, something that wasn’t layered with schemes and shadows. They laughed over plates of pasta, Maya teasing her about Luke’s seriousness, Abigail rolling her eyes fondly. For a brief while, it felt like life before everything had changed.

But as they left the restaurant, stepping into the cool night air, Abigail felt it the shift. A dark car idled too close, its tinted windows lowering just slightly. A voice called out, sharp and mocking.

“Mrs. Vandell.”

Abigail froze, Maya instinctively moving closer to her.

From the car, a man leaned halfway out. His smile was cruel. “Enjoying your little outings? You should be careful. The city isn’t always safe.”

Maya bristled, her hand gripping Abigail’s arm. “Ignore him, Abby.”

But Abigail couldn’t ignore it. She recognized the intention this wasn’t random. This was Obetta’s doing, a move meant to unsettle her.

She drew in a steady breath, meeting the man’s gaze. “Tell her,” she said calmly, “that I don’t scare easily.”

The man’s grin faltered, just slightly. Then he withdrew into the car, and the vehicle drove off.

Maya exhaled sharply, tension leaving her shoulders. “Abby, that was…”

“Obetta,” Abigail finished for her.

Maya nodded grimly. “She’s pushing.”

Abigail straightened. “Let her.”

When they returned to the estate, Luke was waiting in the foyer. His eyes scanned Abigail the moment she entered, sharp and assessing.

“What happened?” he asked.

She explained quietly, her voice steady, though her hands still trembled slightly from the encounter. Luke listened without interrupting, his jaw tightening as she spoke.

When she finished, silence lingered. Then he stepped closer, his hand brushing her cheek, grounding her.

“She’s trying to rattle you,” he said softly. “But you handled it well.”

Abigail searched his eyes. “Luke… how long do we have to keep living like this? Waiting for her next move?”

His gaze softened. “Not much longer. I promise you.”

Something in his voice told her he meant it.

And though the storm of Obetta’s rage still loomed, Abigail felt a shift. Because no matter how loud Obetta screamed, she and Luke were steady. Together.

And storms, no matter how wild, always passed.