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.