"Mr. Shaw, Mr. Mendez—you can't just barge in like this. The president is in a meeting—"
"Meeting my ass!" he snapped, shoving her aside. "Do you even know who I am? I'm her uncle, and this man is her husband. If you've got eyes, use them—or do you not want this job anymore?"
Without waiting for her reply, he shoved the office door wide open.
Inside, Abigail sat leisurely in her leather chair. And bent over her, propped on the armrest, was Dylan—feeding her cookies from his mouth to hers.
Her uncle froze for half a second. Then he lunged, yanked the boy off her, and began beating him.
"You worthless mutt! Seducing a married woman in broad daylight?"
"Ah! Abby, save me!"
The boy cried as he stumbled back, shielding his head, wailing for Abigail's help.
Uncle Archie's fist hadn't even landed on the boy's face before Abigail caught his arm.
"You—you dare stop me?" he roared.
"Do you even know what time it is right now? At such a critical moment, you're still fooling around with this kind of scandal!"
Abigail shot me a venomous glare, as if I had deliberately staged this scene to expose her.
"Uncle," she said coldly, "this is my private matter. Aren't you stretching your hand a little too far?"
"What... did you just say?"
Uncle Archie froze, stunned. He could never have imagined that his gentle, considerate niece would speak to him like this.
"Fine, fine. It's my fault. I shouldn't have interfered." He turned on his heel and walked away without another word.
I was about to follow him out when Abigail's voice cut through the air.
"Julian! If it weren't for the fact that I'm related to you and therefore unable to stand in court, I would have personally represented Dylan and made sure you lost so badly you'd never recover!"
I paused, then asked the question that had been gnawing at me.
"Abigail, I really don't understand. Why do you treat me like an enemy now?"
She narrowed her eyes, leaned closer until her face was just inches from mine, and whispered, "That slap—you think I'll ever forget it? I'll carry it with me for the rest of my life."
Sighing, I nodded. There was nothing left to say.
Online public opinion only grew more frenzied.
Because of the uproar, the case was fast-tracked to trial—less than half a month later, we were in court.
I didn't hire a lawyer. I sat alone at the plaintiff's table.
From the gallery, Abigail raised her brows at me with a smug, mocking look.