Abigail's POV
I wake up to the faint light peeping through the heavy curtains, my head pounding like a drum. My body feels stiff, my mind clouded with memories from last night. The unfamiliarity of the room doesn't help. Everything here-from the crisp white sheets to the elegant, oversized furniture-screams luxury, and and feels suffocating.It doesn't feel like home. It isn't home.
Nathan's voice echoes in my head, sharp and loud. "You've got twenty days to convince your mother to leave." The threat lingers, heavier than the headache I've woken up with.
I roll over and bury my face in the pillow, burying my screams in it. "He was drunk," I tell myself. "Drunk people say stupid things." But my stomach churns with doubt. Drunk or not, his eyes held too much hatred to be dismissed.
And then there's my journal. Heat floods my face as I remember his smirk, his words.
"How long have you had those fantasies about me?"
God. My fists curl around the sheets. How could I have been so careless? That journal holds every embarrassing thought, every little piece of me I've tried to keep hidden. And now it's in "his" hands. If he decides to reveal the contents at school... My reputation, already fragile, will shatter completely. The humiliation would be unbearable.
I sit up and rub my temples. There's no use spiraling. I need a plan to get it back. But for now, I have to get ready for school.
---
By the time I step out of the shower, my headache has dulled to a faint pain. I grab the soft, plush towel hanging nearby and wrap it around myself, letting the heat from the water linger on my skin. Just as I'm rummaging through my suitcase for something to wear, there's a soft knock on the door.
"Abigail? It's me," Mom's voice calls from the other side.
I hesitate before answering. "Come in."
She steps in, her face lit up with a soft smile. She's already dressed, her hair neatly styled, looking every bit as poised as always. But her eyes, as they settle on me, narrow slightly.
"You look tired," she says, crossing the room. "Did you not sleep well?"
"I'm fine," I lie, forcing a small smile. "Just... adjusting, I guess."
She sits on the edge of the bed, watching me closely. "You sure that's all it is? You seem worried about something."
For a moment, I'm tempted to tell her. To let her know about Nathan's threats, his cruelty, and the mess I've landed myself in. But the words catch in my throat. What good would it do? She's finally happy again after years of struggling. I can't ruin this for her.
"I'm just tired, Mom," I say, pulling a sweater over my head. "It's been... a lot to take in."
She nods slowly, as if she's unconvinced but doesn't want to press. "I understand. Moving in with Ricky is a big change. But you'll see, it'll be good for us." She pauses, her tone softening. "Do you like him?"
I sit on the bed to put on my shoes, avoiding her gaze. "It's too early to say," I admit. "I've only been here a day."
She smiles again, this time more brightly. "Fair enough. But give it a chance, okay? He's a good man, Abigail. He really cares about us."
Us. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying anything. She doesn't see the cracks I do-the tension with Nathan, the way his father seems to tiptoe around him. I don't want to burst her bubble, not yet.
"Let me help you with that," she says, moving to tie the laces of my shoes.
"Mom, I can do it," I protest, but she waves me off.
"I'm your mother. Let me fuss over you."
I let her. It's easier than arguing.
***
When we leave my room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and something buttery fills the air. My stomach growls despite the lingering nausea. We're halfway down the hall when Ricky's voice drifts toward us.
"Good morning, ladies," he greets warmly, appearing from the direction of the dining room. He's dressed in a crisp suit, looking every bit the wealthy businessman.
"Morning," Mom responds with a smile, her posture straightening.
Ricky's gaze shifts to me. "How did you sleep, Abigail? Settling in alright?"
"I'm fine, thank you," I say, trying to sound polite.
"Come join us for breakfast," he offers, gesturing toward the dining room.
Before I can respond, we hear the scrape of a chair against the floor. Nathan appears, his expression dark as always. He's dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, his hair slightly tousled.
"Excuse me," he mutters, not looking at any of us as he brushes past.
"Nathan," Ricky starts, his tone stern.
"What?" Nathan snaps, pausing only briefly.
"Stay and have breakfast with us."
Nathan laughs under his breath, a sound devoid of humor. "Pass."
He's gone before anyone can say another word. The air feels heavier in his absence. Ricky sighs, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry about that," he says to Mom. "He's... going through a phase."
Mom shakes her head. "Teenagers. What can you do?" She links her arm through his, steering him toward the dining room. "Come on, let's eat."
I linger for a moment before following. The thought of sitting at that table, under Ricky's watchful eye, feels unbearable. I manage a weak excuse. "Actually, I'm running late for school. I should get going."
"Nonsense," Ricky says, glancing at his watch. "You have time to eat something."
"I'm not hungry," I insist, taking a step back.
He frowns but doesn't push. "At least let Nathan drive you."
The laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "I don't think he'd agree to that."
"Nathan," Ricky calls out sharply, though his son is nowhere to be seen. When there's no response, he mutters something under his breath.
"It's fine," I say quickly. "I'll take a taxi. I usually do anyway."
Ricky doesn't seem convinced. "That's unnecessary. I'll have one of the drivers take you."
Before I can argue, he's already on the phone. Moments later, a bodyguard appears, looking every bit the part in a tailored suit and dark sunglasses.
"Abigail, this is Carl. He'll drive you to school today," Ricky says.
"Thanks," I mumble, feeling more like a burden with every passing second.
***
Outside, the morning air is crisp and cool. I'm halfway down the driveway when I hear footsteps behind me.
"Hey," Nathan's voice calls out.
I freeze, my heart sinking.
He catches up, his hands shoved in his pockets. There's no smirk this time, just a cold, detached stare.
"Don't forget what I said," he murmurs, his tone low enough that Carl, standing by the car, can't hear. "Twenty days."
I clench my fists, meeting his gaze. "You were drunk. You don't even know what you're saying."
He tilts his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Drunk or not, I meant every word. Don't test me, Abigail."
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to fight back. He's already won too much ground. Without another word, I climb into the car and slam the door shut.
As Carl pulls away, I glance back at Nathan through the tinted window. He's still standing there, watching, his expression unreadable. My hands tighten into fists. One thing is clear-I can't let him control me.