After Sebastian placed the necklace around Gabriella’s neck, he stepped back to admire her, his gaze lingering with a hint of satisfaction. He spoke with a careful precision, "Gabriella is more suited to it. It truly accentuates her nobility."
The implication was clear—Abigail wasn’t worthy of the necklace.
A sharp pain pierced Abigail’s chest, a needle-like sting that left her unable to move. Her hands trembled, and for a moment, she felt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
Just then, a man approached Sebastian, his gaze briefly flicking to Abigail before he asked with a hint of curiosity, “I know this is the future Mrs. Montgomery—who is she?”
The man was referring to Gabriella as the future Mrs. Montgomery, of course. But it was the second part of his question that struck Abigail like a blow.
Sebastian, without hesitation, glanced at Abigail and replied coldly, “The nanny at home.”
The man’s face froze in confusion. “The nanny is dressed like this?”
Without missing a beat, Sebastian’s voice took on an icy edge. “Don’t recognize your identity?”
His words landed like a slap. The cruel irony in his tone made her feel as though she were being stripped bare, her dignity torn to pieces before a crowd. The beautiful dress that had once made her feel elegant now only seemed to amplify her humiliation.
The man looked at her with a mixture of confusion and judgment, his eyes carrying an unspoken accusation. Abigail felt exposed, as though she were naked in front of the world, vulnerable to their cruel stares.
The banquet began, and the crowd poured into the hall. Sebastian cast one last glance at Abigail, her head bowed in silence. A strange discomfort twisted in his gut, and his heart tightened. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make him frown. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice stiff, “You follow.”
He then offered his arm to Gabriella, leading her into the venue with an easy, practiced grace. Abigail trailed behind them like a shadow, her steps heavy with the weight of her own self-loathing. She fought to keep her composure, her smile a brittle mask of self-deprecation.
As the evening wore on, Abigail watched in silence as Sebastian doted on Gabriella. He stopped her from drinking too much, gently wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin, and even adjusting the lipstick on her lips with a careful hand.
Abigail’s chest tightened with each movement. It was all too familiar. She had once been the recipient of his tender care, his lips brushing against hers as he wiped away lipstick, his hands the ones to fix her makeup. But now, she was nothing more than an observer.
Watching him attend to Gabriella in the same way, Abigail’s heart shattered. The pain was unbearable, and she couldn’t stand to watch anymore. She turned away, retreating to the side of the room.
Meanwhile, Sebastian, still absorbed in helping Gabriella with her lipstick, felt a strange sense of déjà vu. He didn’t know why he was so skilled at this—why it felt so natural. What he didn’t realize was that he had learned it all from another girl, a girl who was now a distant memory.
Abigail stood off to the side, the wine glass in her hand trembling slightly as she gazed distantly at the scene unfolding before her. Just as she was about to turn and leave, Gabriella approached her with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"Abigail," she began, her voice smooth yet laced with a cutting edge, "you saw it today, didn’t you? Sebastian loves me so much. Don’t you feel heartbroken?"
Abigail’s expression didn’t waver. She didn’t flinch, nor did she respond. Gabriella, undeterred, continued with a mocking sweetness, "Leave early, and maybe your heart won’t hurt so much. I’m being sincere when I say, you should leave as soon as you can."
The words pierced her heart, but she maintained her composure, her face a mask of indifference. She didn’t give Gabriella the satisfaction of a reaction.
Gabriella, however, was unfazed. She cast a glance over her shoulder and saw Sebastian making his way toward them. With a swift, subtle motion, she tugged at the tablecloth.
A champagne tower teetered dangerously on the edge of the table, and with the slightest pull, it collapsed, sending cascading glasses hurtling toward Abigail.
Before she could react, the cold liquid splashed over her, and the glasses shattered upon impact, their sharp edges cutting into her exposed skin. The pain was immediate and intense, the shards of glass embedding themselves in her flesh. She cried out, but the sound was muffled by the sharp sting of pain that overwhelmed her. In her high heels, her balance faltered, and she crashed to the ground, the sharp glass fragments piercing her skin further.
Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she lay amidst the broken glass. The pain was excruciating, but her heart hurt even more—aching for the love she had once known.
Through her tears, she looked up. The sight before her was like a cruel irony: Sebastian, who should have been the one to help her, was instead rushing to Gabriella’s side. He held her tightly, his face filled with concern as he checked her for injuries.
Gabriella had only suffered a minor scratch on her finger, yet Sebastian was beside himself with worry. His focus was entirely on her, his face etched with anxiety and urgency.
In that moment, Sebastian caught sight of Abigail, lying on the ground, her body bruised and bleeding from the glass shards. A sharp stab of pain shot through his chest, his heart suddenly aching in a way he couldn’t comprehend. His eyes met hers, and for just a moment, there was a flicker of something—something deep and unspoken.
But it was gone in an instant, buried beneath the surface of his cold, controlled exterior. He quickly turned his attention back to Gabriella, his face a mask of concern, though his eyes still betrayed a flicker of something else. Something he couldn’t recognize, or perhaps didn’t want to.
Abigail lay there, the tears staining her cheeks, her heart feeling more shattered than the glass around her.
