“Enough!” Sebastian’s hand slammed against the table, the sharp sound echoing in the room. He stood abruptly, his glare cutting through her like a blade.
“Stop spouting nonsense. When the agreed time is up, I’ll divorce you. You’d better behave yourself until then, or I won’t even wait that long!”
His words dripped with anger and disgust, his eyes cold and unyielding.
Abigail felt as though her heart was being strangled, the pain wrapping itself around her like an unrelenting vine. She stared at him, her chest heaving with the weight of words left unsaid.
Why? She asked herself for the hundredth time. Why would he believe me now when he didn’t before?
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile as she lowered her gaze, resigning herself to silence. She returned to her breakfast, her appetite lost but unwilling to show the depth of her hurt.
Once, Abigail had never needed to cook. Sebastian had always insisted on taking care of meals himself or calling their housekeeper when he was too busy.
But after his car accident and subsequent discharge from the hospital, everything changed.
“Why don’t you cook when there’s no one else here?” he’d snapped one day, his voice laced with disdain. “You don’t even know how to do something as simple as this?”
His words had stung, treating her not as a partner but as a servant.
It was Abigail’s first time in the kitchen, but Sebastian’s reaction was as cold and predictable as ever. He took one bite, his expression hardening instantly, and pushed the plate to the middle of the table. The disdain in his eyes was undisguised, a silent declaration of her inadequacy.
The sharp ring of his phone broke the oppressive silence. He glanced at the screen, and his demeanor shifted. Without hesitation, he answered, his voice softening with unmistakable joy.
“Gabriella?”
The sound of that name made Abigail’s hand, holding her chopsticks, freeze in midair. The dining room fell silent again, but Gabriella’s sweet, coquettish voice on the other end of the line was painfully clear.
“Sebastian, the breakfast my aunt made isn’t good. Can you cook for me instead? I only want to eat what you make.”
A tender smile crept onto Sebastian’s face, and he replied indulgently, “Alright. I’ll make you whatever you want.”