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Novel Catalog
Chapter_64
The audacious declarations, dreams, and aspirations Abigail once clung to now mocked her like a cruel jest. Each hope for a future she had painted with vibrant hues of possibility now felt like a bitter echo. Her knock on the door was soft, almost hesitant, as if she feared the response she would receive.
“Dad,” she called, her voice steady but her heart pounding. Mr. Vanderbilt glanced up, fatigue weighing down his features, disappointment curling around his expression.
“Shouldn’t you be in your room? What do you need?” he asked, his tone worn thin from the weight of recent days.
Abigail took a deep breath, steeling herself. She had never imagined she’d be the one to utter these words, but the situation left her with no other choice. “I’m willing to accept an arranged marriage,” she declared, her voice firm yet laden with an unspoken fragility.
Mr. Vanderbilt blinked, taken aback. His gaze fixed on her as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper of disbelief.
She hesitated, the weight of the words settling heavily in her chest. “An arranged marriage is the only solution to the Vanderbilt family’s current predicament and the key to saving our stocks,” she explained.
He opened his mouth, but no words came at first. The silence between them stretched longer than either expected. Once, he’d tried to convince Abigail to marry for the sake of security and stability. She had refused, speaking instead of ideals, of freedom, of the world outside their bubble. Now, her offer was something neither of them had anticipated.
His gaze hardened, his expression unreadable, though a faint twinge of regret flickered in his eyes. He had never once considered sacrificing his daughter’s happiness for financial stability.
“When will you stop with this nonsense?” he demanded, his voice rising with frustration. “Go back to your room.”
But Abigail remained resolute. “I’m not being reckless, Dad. This is the most expedient solution to our crisis. Please, agree.”
With a forceful gesture, Mr. Vanderbilt slammed the object he was holding onto his desk, standing up abruptly. His chair scraped against the floor as he roared, “How many times must I tell you? Go back! I may have my faults, but I will not trade my daughter’s happiness!”
Arranged marriages had once been about family alliances, binding agreements that strengthened bloodlines and fortunes. Now, they had devolved into cold negotiations and transactions, devoid of any real emotional connection.
But how could Abigail find happiness in such a union? As her father’s fury filled the room, Abigail felt not the usual rush of defiance, but a dull, aching pain that weighed on her chest. It was in that moment that the realization hit her—she had misinterpreted her father’s intentions all these years. Her dreams of freedom and escape had been cruelly clipped by the harsh reality of her world, and now, the truth was a weight that threatened to crush her.
Retreating to her bedroom, she was greeted by a flood of notifications on her phone, most of which she ignored. With only one percent of battery remaining, she stared at the screen, almost willing it to stay alive just long enough to receive one last message from Quinn.
In the final moments before the phone powered down, a call from Quinn came through. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Abigail held the phone to her ear, but neither of them spoke. The minutes stretched on, but no words were exchanged.
The call ended in that strange, lingering quiet, leaving Abigail staring at the screen as though the silence itself held some secret.
Back in her own room, Quinn’s eyelashes fluttered as she processed the call. With a quick motion, she opened WhatsApp, hoping to see a message from Abigail—something, anything, to break the stillness between them. But the screen remained empty.
Outside, the rain whispered secrets, tapping softly against the windows, the chill seeping into the room and mingling with Quinn’s own unease. She wrapped her fingers around the phone, as though it could offer some warmth or reassurance.
The darkness deepened as the long wait stretched on. The quiet was unbearable, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic sound of the rain.
A knock on the door startled Quinn, and she snapped her head toward the sound, listening intently. It wasn’t the usual ring of the doorbell—it was a solid knock, as if someone expected an answer.
She rose cautiously, her heart racing in her chest, and opened the door just a crack. The man standing on the other side moved swiftly, his casual demeanor belying a quickness she hadn’t expected. Before she could even react, he caught the doorframe with one hand, preventing her from closing it.
“Don’t freak out, Quinn. Mom sent me to pick you up,” he said with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He was undeniably handsome—striking, even. His features were sharp and perfectly arranged, as if he had stepped out of some old-world portrait. Freya had once described him as a dashing gentleman with an undeniable charm and an old-world elegance. His long hair, tied back in a loose style, only added to his unique appearance.
The man was Walter, Freya’s husband, and Quinn’s body tensed involuntarily as she took in his presence.
