Abigail, always cautious around Kevin, felt a wave of wariness wash over her. Perhaps it was because Kevin was friends with Sean, or perhaps it was because she instinctively felt that these two men had more in common than she cared to admit. As she looked at him, her eyes sharp and thoughtful, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m getting a divorce from Sean. You know that, right?”
Kevin’s response was casual, though she could sense a brief moment of hesitation before he shrugged. “Yeah, I found out a few days ago. But don’t worry, I keep my personal and professional lives separate. The idea to invite Alana wasn’t just mine—it was the whole design team’s. We heard about her recent loss, and I didn’t want to intrude on her too abruptly. I thought I’d explore the situation since we’re acquainted.”
Abigail’s gaze softened just slightly at his explanation, and she then asked, “May I ask if the show provides assistants, or is it up to the individual?”
Kevin’s smile became more knowing, more calculated. “Of course, you can bring your own assistants. The show’s about results and efficiency, not drama. The audience cares about the work, not who’s working with whom.”
His words resonated with Abigail. She appreciated the straightforwardness of the show’s approach, one that didn’t indulge in unnecessary distractions or biased portrayals. Her doubts faded, and she extended her hand with grace. “I’ll need to discuss it with Luna first, but I hope we can work together.”
Kevin’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he shook her hand firmly. “I’ll be waiting for the good news, then.”
But as their hands parted, Kevin felt a sudden chill, and he quickly withdrew his hand. With a polite smile, he handed her a business card. “You should enjoy the rest of the evening. I need to attend to other guests.”
After bidding Abigail farewell, Kevin hurried upstairs to the second floor. There, he spotted Sean, who was leaning casually against the handrail, a cigarette in his hand. From Sean’s vantage point, he could see Kevin and Abigail conversing, laughing—seemingly at ease with one another.
Kevin instinctively touched the back of his neck, recalling the cold, piercing look Sean had given him just moments before. He smirked under his breath. “Are you jealous, Sean?”
Sean casually extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray, the faintest sneer curling his lips. “Jealous? That’s laughable.”
Kevin couldn’t resist explaining himself. “We’re just keeping things professional, I swear. I wouldn’t touch anyone related to you. Let me tell you something—you might not know this, but my sister-in-law is—”
Before Kevin could finish, Sean interrupted, his voice as cold as ice. “You’ve said it already. We’re divorced, so don’t call her that anymore. Whether you like her or not, it’s none of my business.”
Sean was still consumed by the image of Abigail and Kevin sharing a light moment, the way they seemed to fit together so well. They looked… good together. And the more he thought about it, the more irritated he became. He flicked his lighter open and shut, a futile gesture to mask his frustration. “She’s already moved on. It’s none of my concern anymore.”
Kevin, taken aback by Sean’s icy demeanor, didn’t pursue the matter further. Instead, he slumped into a nearby chair, a teasing grin on his face. “Alana,” he murmured under his breath, finishing his earlier thought. “Your wife is none other than the famous Alana.”
Meanwhile, Abigail had left the crowded ballroom, feeling suffocated. She walked out into the back garden to get some air, needing a moment to herself. But as soon as she stepped through the revolving door, a familiar hand gripped her arm tightly.
She didn’t need to look to know who it was—Sean’s presence enveloped her in an all-too-familiar way. She sighed in frustration and shook him off. “Stop being so touchy-feely in public!”
She didn’t want Joan to see them and start another outburst. She was already exhausted from dealing with Joan’s constant demands and threats of compensation, especially after the mess over the 120 thousand.
Sean’s expression hardened at her words. She had been so affectionate with Kevin just moments ago—why was it suddenly inappropriate when it came to him, her actual husband?
“We’re not divorced yet,” Sean said coldly. “You’d better watch yourself. The people from the Graham Estate are watching.”
Abigail couldn’t hide her disdain. “When you and Joan were on the red carpet just now, did you think about the people watching then? There were reporters everywhere. Did you forget?”
Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she shot him a withering look. The hypocrisy was unbearable. Sean’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before his gaze softened just a fraction.
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Are you jealous?”
The question struck Abigail like a slap. She froze for a moment, realizing how absurd the situation was. “Jealous?” she replied, her voice tense. “Jealousy comes from affection, and I don’t have any reason to be jealous of you.”
Sean’s brief moment of softness vanished, replaced by an icy glare. Without warning, he reached out and pinched her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His voice was low, almost threatening. “Do I need to remind you why you entered the Graham family?”
Abigail winced from the pressure on her chin, then slapped his hand away with force. “Mr. Graham, does that mean Joan can’t bear children?”
His question had no connection to what she’d just said, but she was done being his pawn. If he was going to hold her over the family legacy, then let him.
For a moment, Sean faltered. “Why are you bringing her up now?” he asked, genuinely confused.
Abigail’s heart pounded. “Oh? Could it be that she isn’t infertile, but you are?” She couldn’t stop herself from speaking the words that had been festering inside her for so long.
The shock on Sean’s face was momentary, but it made Abigail realize just how far they had drifted apart. Their marriage had been a lie, built on expectations and unspoken rules, and now it was unraveling before her eyes.
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