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Chapter_10
The sound of the bottle shattering was deafening as it exploded on impact, scattering glass across the floor. The red liquid, mixing with the blood now trickling down Abigail’s forehead, blurred her vision and made everything seem surreal. The entire room fell into stunned silence, none of them expecting her to be so drastic. She had always been reckless, but this… this was beyond anything they’d imagined.
“Abigail!” Oliver’s voice cracked with worry as he rushed to catch her, his arms steadying her as she wavered. “Why did you do that?”
Leaning against him for support, Abigail’s breath came in short gasps. She steadied herself briefly before locking eyes with Alexander, her voice dripping with defiance. “Happy now? I’ll do it again if you want.”
Her hand reached for another bottle, but Oliver quickly grabbed her wrist, preventing her from going further down this destructive path. His fury was palpable as he turned his red-rimmed gaze to Alexander. “Alexander, we’ve known each other for nearly thirty years. You really want to push me this far? There’s no coming back from this.”
Quinn, her heart racing, hurried to Abigail’s side. The sight of blood staining Abigail’s forehead made her stomach churn. Guilt washed over her, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.
“Abigail…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Abigail’s voice was weak but steady as she looked at Quinn. “Why are you here?”
Seeing her, Alexander’s face hardened. “Who told you to come?”
Victoria, standing in the corner of the room, nervously cleared her throat. “It was me…” she admitted uneasily.
Ignoring the tension between the others, Quinn made her way toward Getty, who raised her chin in a provocative gesture, challenging Quinn with her gaze. The room seemed to hold its breath as the two locked eyes.
After a tense moment, Quinn lowered her gaze, her body language one of submission. She then signed, “Sorry. It’s all my fault. Please forgive me, Ms. Morgan.”
Getty huffed, rolling her eyes. “What the heck? I can’t read it,” she muttered in dissatisfaction. She knew Quinn’s apology sign well enough but wasn’t about to make this easy for her. She relished the idea of stirring the pot even further, especially when it involved Alexander and Oliver.
Seeing the tension in the room, Quinn walked over to Alexander. Crouching down, she gently shook his arm, her posture desperate, almost pleading. She wasn’t trying to charm him, but rather begging for mercy, her eyes filled with raw emotion.
Abigail, seeing what Quinn was doing, moved to get up, but Oliver held her back, pressing a tissue to Abigail’s bleeding forehead. The tissue quickly soaked through, the blood showing no sign of slowing.
Getty, sensing an opening, tightened her grip on Alexander’s arm, watching Quinn closely. Her fingers dug into his skin, as if trying to hold him in place. She was terrified that Quinn’s pleading might make him soft, that he might see the vulnerability in Quinn’s eyes and cave.
Quinn looked up at Alexander, her face streaked with tears. She signed desperately, “I won’t go back to work. Never again. Please… just let Abigail go. Please.” Her fingers trembled as she formed each sign, but her plea was clear. She had resigned herself to this painful sacrifice, hoping it might bring peace.
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, every eye on Quinn as she laid herself bare in front of Alexander, groveling at his feet. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, each beat echoing the raw emotion she was pouring into this moment.
For a long while, Alexander remained still, his face unreadable as he studied Quinn’s signs, her genuine vulnerability shining through. His eyes lingered on her delicate hands, the way she signed his name with so much care, but even that couldn’t soften the resolve that had hardened in him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Alexander withdrew his hand and turned away from Quinn. His gaze softened for just a moment before he looked at Getty.
“I’ll take you back to the hospital,” he said gently, his tone almost tender as he spoke to Getty.
Getty, sensing her victory, cooed in a sickly sweet voice, “My foot hurts. Carry me.”
Without hesitation, Alexander bent down and scooped her up effortlessly, lifting her in his arms with surprising tenderness. As he stood, Getty wrapped her arms around his neck, glancing at Quinn with a smug, almost taunting look that said everything: See? You mean nothing to him.
Quinn watched them leave, her vision blurring with unshed tears. Her legs felt like jelly, and she swayed unsteadily, before her knees gave way completely. She collapsed to the floor, her body shaking as she finally let go.
“Quinn!” The cry echoed through the room, but it was too late.
