CHAPTER 98

I KNOW MY WORLD..

The estate had returned to its usual quiet rhythm after Kate’s family gathering, but the echoes of that event still lingered in Abigail’s mind. For days she could not forget the curious stares, the whispered comments, the mixture of admiration and judgment that came with being introduced, in full, as Luke Vandell’s wife. She had felt both small and powerful at once small in the presence of centuries-old wealth, power, and expectation, but powerful in the simple fact that she belonged at Luke’s side.

Luke had been unusually quiet since then. He didn’t behave coldly, not in the old sense of pushing her away, but rather, he was contemplative, as though watching her every move, analyzing her reactions to his world. Sometimes she would catch him studying her when he thought she wasn’t looking, and his eyes carried something unreadable, something heavy.

That morning, she woke alone again. The sheets on his side of the bed were already cold, a sign that he had risen before dawn, as he often did. Abigail sighed, pressing her face into the pillow that smelled faintly of him. The memory of the event still replayed in her mind: the cousins who liked her, the elderly uncles who treated her as though she were fragile, and Obetta’s sly presence like a snake in the grass.

She rose from bed slowly, dressing in a pale silk robe as she padded toward the window. The gardens stretched wide in the morning sun, trimmed and neat, every flower bed blooming in disciplined perfection. It was the kind of order that reflected Luke’s life structured, immovable, demanding. She pressed her fingers against the glass, wondering if she was truly strong enough to continue holding her ground within it.

Her thoughts were broken when the door opened quietly. She turned, half expecting one of the maids, but it was Luke. He had already been out his dark suit jacket was draped over one arm, and his tie hung loose around his neck. His hair was slightly windswept, as though he had gone for one of his drives to clear his head.

“You’re awake,” he said simply, his voice low, controlled.

She nodded. “You left early.”

“I had calls to make.” He set the jacket across a chair and began removing the tie. “Meetings to arrange. After what happened at the event, there are… impressions to manage.”

Abigail tilted her head. “Impressions of me?”

“Of us,” he corrected sharply, though his eyes softened a fraction. “You handled yourself well that day. Better than I expected.”

Her lips parted slightly at his words. “Better than you expected? You doubted me?”

“I don’t doubt you,” he said, his tone tightening. “But I know my world, Abigail. I know how easily it chews up anyone who doesn’t belong. And sometimes, I…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though unwilling to explain further.

She stepped closer, her robe whispering across the floor. “Luke, I didn’t fall apart. I know they were watching me, some waiting to see me fail, but I didn’t. Even Obetta couldn’t shake me.”

At the mention of the name, his jaw tensed. “She won’t stop trying. People like her… they thrive on weakness. And you” His gaze cut to her, dark and sharp. “You’re not allowed to show weakness. Not in front of them. Not ever.”

Abigail’s heart tightened at his words. “So you want me to always be on guard? To never breathe unless I calculate how it looks to others?”

“Exactly,” he said without hesitation. “That’s what it means to stand next to me. That’s what it means to be mine.”

The words struck her chest with a mixture of weight and heat. There was ownership in them, yes, but also a raw truth. He wasn’t asking because he wanted her to pretend; he was demanding because he needed her to survive in his world.

She lowered her gaze briefly, then lifted it again, locking onto his eyes. “And if I fail?”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, cutting her thought before it could bloom. “Because I won’t let you.”

His certainty was both comforting and intimidating. She wanted to argue, to tell him she wasn’t some porcelain doll that needed constant guarding, but another part of her the part that had grown to love him fiercely understood what lay beneath his words. Luke Vandell was a man who built walls so high that anyone trying to climb them would bloody their hands. Yet he was letting her in, slowly, piece by piece, even if he did it by wrapping his dominance around her like armor.

He moved closer then, the distance between them shrinking. “What did you think of them?” he asked suddenly. “My family. My cousins. My world.”

Abigail drew in a breath. “Some were kind. Some weren’t. Some just stared at me like I didn’t deserve to be standing next to you. But…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I realized that day that no matter what they thought, you chose me. That’s enough for me.”

His eyes searched hers, unblinking, until finally, something shifted in his expression. It wasn’t softness not quite but there was an unspoken approval, almost pride. He lifted his hand and cupped her chin, tilting her face upward. “Remember that,” he murmured. “It’s you I chose. Not them.”

Her lips trembled faintly under his touch. “Even when Obetta tries to remind everyone of what she used to mean to you?”

His hand stilled, his thumb brushing her lower lip. His gaze hardened again, but not at her at the name. “She’s the past. And I don’t look back at the past. Not anymore.” His voice dropped, a near growl. “You’re the one standing in front of me now. The only one.”

Her breath caught, and silence stretched between them, charged, thick. She knew there was so much he wasn’t saying, layers he still kept locked, but in that moment, she didn’t need to hear everything. His presence, his gaze, his touch they spoke for him.

“I’ll stand beside you, Luke,” she whispered. “No matter how hard it gets. I’m not going anywhere.”

Something flickered in his eyes at her vow, something almost vulnerable before he masked it again. He released her chin only to draw her closer by the waist, pulling her flush against him. For a moment, Abigail melted against him, feeling the solidity of his chest, the strength that both shielded and consumed her.

He lowered his head, his lips brushing her temple in a rare, fleeting kiss. “See that you don’t,” he muttered, almost like a warning but laced with something deeper.

And then, as always, he pulled back before she could fully unravel him. He turned away, reaching for his jacket. “I’ll be at the office longer today. Don’t wait up.”

Her heart sank a little, but she hid it. “Alright.”

He glanced back once more, his gaze dragging over her, lingering a moment too long before he left the room. The door closed softly, and Abigail stood in silence, her chest tight.

For a long while she remained at the window, staring out at the gardens. She was in the heart of his world now its beauty, its ruthlessness, its demands. And though she had survived the first wave of tests, she knew more would come. Luke’s family, his enemies, even his past would try to chip away at her.

But she made herself a promise in that quiet moment, her fingers curling tightly at her side.

She would not break.

Not for them.

Not even for him.

If she had to stand in fire to prove she belonged at his side, then she would burn and rise again. Because Abigail Vandell was no longer just the girl who had stumbled into Luke’s orbit. She was his wife. And she would fight for that place, even if it meant fighting the shadows of his past.