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.

Before he could process the situation, Gabriella in his arms let out a soft, pained moan. Immediately, Sebastian’s attention snapped to her, his concern deepening. Without a second thought, he bent down and lifted her into his arms, cradling her carefully as he walked swiftly toward the door, his focus solely on Gabriella.

He didn’t spare a glance at Abigail, the woman he once knew. The sight of them leaving together, so effortlessly and intimately, was enough to send a deep, aching pain through Abigail’s chest. It felt as though her heart had been dropped from an immense height, only to shatter upon impact, pieces scattered beyond repair.

She stood there, frozen for a moment, watching them disappear. The emptiness left in their wake threatened to consume her. With trembling hands, she struggled to rise, the pain in her body flaring up, sending sharp waves of agony through her limbs. The more she moved, the more intense the pain became, until it felt like it was spreading through every inch of her.

Around her, the hum of conversation grew louder, more insistent.

"Who is she?"

"I heard she’s the Montgomery Family’s nanny."

"She’s so young..."

The words, casual and dismissive, were like daggers, each one twisting deeper into her heart. After a long moment, she managed to push past the sharp pain and stagger to her feet. She walked unsteadily toward the exit, her steps faltering. Once outside, she hailed a taxi to the hospital.

When she arrived at the hospital, she found Sebastian and the others already there. His mother, a group of bodyguards, and the head physician were all in tow, following Sebastian, who was still holding Gabriella, into a lavish ward. The scene was overwhelming—a stark contrast to the shattered state she was in.

A bitter smile curled on Abigail’s lips as she turned and walked to the nurse's station.

The nurse gasped upon seeing her and quickly escorted her to the medical room, where a female doctor was called in to treat her wounds. The doctor’s hands were steady and efficient, cleaning and dressing the numerous cuts. The wounds themselves weren’t deep, but there were many, scattered across her arms and legs like a cruel reminder of the evening’s events.

As the doctor worked, she grew a little more talkative, perhaps to ease the tension of the quiet room. "The girl next door is so lucky," she mused, almost absentmindedly. "She looks like a rich lady, and her boyfriend loves her so much. She’s so upset over just a little injury..."

Abigail offered a faint hum in response, the hollow sound escaping her lips. But inside, it felt as though something vital had been ripped out of her, leaving only an unbearable emptiness.

That’s her husband, and yet, he’s next door, anxious over another woman.

The doctor finished bandaging her wounds and was about to offer aftercare instructions when he noticed her expression. He froze, then nervously asked, "Did I hurt you? I’m sorry."

Abigail blinked, confused, and quickly shook her head. "No, no."

But the doctor’s confusion only deepened as he observed her. "Then... why do you look like you're about to cry?"

Abigail was stunned. Was that how she looked? Despite the numbness in her heart, it had somehow made its way to her face. She could only laugh bitterly at herself.

After thanking the doctor, she walked out of the clinic, the silence of the hospital on New Year’s Eve feeling oddly suffocating. As she moved down the corridor, she could hear snippets of conversation from the next room—Sebastian’s voice, soft and concerned.

"Gabriella, does it still hurt? Don’t be stubborn. If it hurts, hold my hand."

"Our Gabriella is so unlucky. Why did she have to stand next to that jinx and get hurt? My poor child."

The words stung like fresh wounds, and Abigail turned her back on them, walking out of the hospital alone. She had never truly been a part of their family. The realization, though sharp, wasn’t new. What had once been an indifference she could tolerate, now felt like a heavy weight in her chest.

When she returned to the villa, everything seemed unchanged, yet it felt emptier, colder than before.

She went to the study, where she saw the commemorative album perched on a high shelf. It was the photo album Sebastian had created after they got together. He had said at the time, “We need to record our beauty so we can look back on it when we’re old.”

Each meaningful photo—whether a picture of them together or one of his solo shots—had been carefully pasted inside, along with his loving messages. For three years, it had been filled with memories, each page a testament to their love. But it stopped abruptly half a month ago.

Abigail flipped through the pages slowly, each word he had written, each image, now weighed heavily on her heart. The love they had shared seemed to have faded, replaced by this cold reality. Her mind wandered back to what Gabriella had said to her at the banquet.

In truth, Gabriella’s words were not entirely unfounded. Abigail found herself hesitating, questioning whether her persistence still held any meaning.

Is he really still the same person?

She had grown accustomed to Sebastian’s late nights, a change that both shocked and numbed her. Was it really that easy to develop a habit? And just as easily, could she forget it all?

The day Gabriella brought Sebastian back, Abigail was in the flower house, watering the plants. This space hadn’t been there before—Sebastian had built it for her after noticing how much she loved flowers.

In her hands, she cradled a flowerpot containing the ashes of her aborted child. When the child had first come into her life, she and Sebastian had been full of hope. They had even chosen names—Madeline if it was a girl, Andrew if it was a boy.

But things hadn’t turned out as they hoped. After the loss, Abigail had taken the ashes and buried them in the soil, planting flowers on top, hoping that her child could somehow be reborn in another form.

Lost in thought, she was jolted by the sound of a door closing. Thinking it was Sebastian returning, she put the flowerpot down and went to the living room, only to find it empty. She heard movement upstairs and made her way toward it.

As she approached the half-open door to the master bedroom, she froze. Through the crack, she saw Sebastian lying on the bed, and Gabriella bent over him, kissing him passionately.

Just as Abigail thought Gabriella had initiated the kiss, she saw Sebastian’s hand pull the back of Gabriella’s head, pressing her deeper.

Abigail’s face drained of color in an instant. The shock hit her like a physical blow, and her head buzzed with the force of it. Before they could go any further, her legs gave way, and she stumbled out of the villa, her steps unsteady and frantic.

She ran without thinking, her body moving on pure instinct, until her legs could carry her no longer. She bent over, supporting herself with her hands on her knees, a single tear slipping down her cheek without warning.

She couldn’t hold on anymore.

Falling to the ground, she clutched her chest, trying to ease the unbearable ache that felt like her heart was being torn apart. But nothing worked—the pain only deepened, and the tears flowed uncontrollably, as if they were a floodgate opened wide.

In less than a month, she had experienced pain she hadn’t felt in the past three years. She was done. She no longer had any expectations.

We’re no longer on the same path. It’s better to end it now.

Wiping her tears away, she shakily pulled out her phone, dialing a number with trembling hands. "Director, I’ve made up my mind. I want to participate in that project."

Her decision was met with enthusiasm on the other end, and Abigail felt a strange sense of relief.

She didn’t return to the villa that night. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing or hearing anything that would shatter her further.

The next morning, she was awakened by Sebastian’s call. Without even glancing at the screen, she answered, only recognizing his voice when he spoke sharply.

"Are you out all night? If you don’t want to stay at home, then divorce me."

Abigail’s voice was cold and even. "I’ll be back soon."

His words hung in the air, but it was her icy tone that left him speechless. He wanted to say something, but she had already hung up. His frustration grew, though he couldn’t pinpoint where it stemmed from.

After hanging up, Abigail checked out of the hotel and made her way back to the villa.

When she returned, she found Sebastian and Gabriella having breakfast together. Without a word, she headed upstairs, her silence heavy in the air.

As she reached the staircase, Sebastian called out, "Abigail, where are you going? Don’t run off. Wash the dishes."