30. Abigail #2
But I read the number again. My hands tremble as I fumble for my phone. I search Donovan’s name in my contacts, and even though the last three digits match, I check the full number. Three times.
When all hope drains away, my focus snaps to the stage. Will is still speaking, wrapping up his speech with that same practiced charm. His voice washes over me, the words reduced to static.
The crowd erupts in applause, but I stay frozen, clutching both our phones with shaking hands.
How could I have been so blind?
When Donovan called to settle, I didn’t question it. I assumed he was scared, just like I was. It never even occurred to me that Will might be behind it. When Neil brought it up, the thought flickered for half a second but then Will denied it. And I believed him. Straight away. There was no doubt.
Now the truth stares me down: Will strong-armed Donovan into settling.
This isn’t just manipulative. It’s unethical. He had no business contacting my client behind my back. And the worst part? My case was solid. We could have won.
Will disappears into the wings, and the world around me blurs into a low, useless hum. People shift in their seats. Chatter swells. But I don’t hear it. I don’t see anything except the empty space where he stood.
There’s no excuse for this. I asked him point-blank if the settlement was clean. He lied to my face.
If he lied about this, what else has he lied about?
Heat rushes up my neck and burns in my cheeks. I should’ve known better. After George, I swore I wouldn’t fall for it again. But here I am. Fooled. Played.
In the end, people put themselves first. Will didn’t hesitate to throw me, and Donovan, under the bus.
I watch him now, back on the floor, shaking hands, basking in congratulations. That polished, effortless smile. The one that slips on like it’s part of him.
He told me who he was from the start: A man who gets what he wants. A man who doesn’t lose.
And I didn’t listen.
How could I have misread him so badly?
The man I thought I knew. He couldn’t have done this. He has a good heart. Or I thought he did.
Winning is all that matters to him.
He walks toward me now, holding the plaque like a prize, the crowd parting around him. He looks triumphant. Admired. Untouchable.
I sit still and silent until he settles beside me, that smug smile playing on his lips.
“Guess we should try Mom again—” His head turns, distracted.
I hand him his phone.
“You have a message.” My voice is calm, but the weight behind it is impossible to miss.
He glances down. The smile vanishes.
He doesn’t say a word. Just slips the phone into his pocket, like ignoring it will make it go away. Like I didn’t see it.
Too bad.
“What did you do?” I ask. My tone stays level, almost eerily so, though my pulse hammers in my chest.
“We’ll talk later,” he says, eyes shifting away.
“Are you the reason he settled for 2.7?”
I want him to say no. To explain. To tell me I’m wrong. But the silence between us answers everything.
“You didn’t want court,” he says at last. “I took care of it.”
Like it’s a favor.
“You ruined a family’s future—”
“It’s sorted.” He reaches for me but I pull back.
I promised Donovan a fair outcome. I failed him.
Maybe I would’ve lost in court and walked away with less than 2.7, but I never got the chance to try.
And yes, that’s on me too. I didn’t push back. I didn’t fight hard enough when he asked to settle for 2.7.
But this? This isn’t right.
“I did it for us,” Will says.
“So Donovan’s family suffers so things are easier for us?” My stomach twists. The faces of his kids flash through my mind, and disgust floods me.
“I told you, I handled it.”
“2.7 isn’t ‘handling it,’” I snap. “And you lied to me.”
“I did, but just about this.”
“How am I supposed to know that everything you’ve ever told me isn’t a lie?”
He glances around, like he’s checking to see if anyone’s listening.
“Baby, you’re being dramatic—”
That word slices through me.
Suddenly, I’m seventeen again. Standing in my prom dress, staring at an empty doorway.
Mom promised she’d fly in to help me get ready. I hadn’t seen her much that year, but I clung to that promise. Turned down my friends’ offers because I needed her to show up. Because I had to believe she would.
She didn’t.
Her voice was groggy when she finally answered the phone, thick with sleep and time zones away in Prague.
Celia had a late shoot. No apology.
When I told her how much it hurt, she sighed and told me to stop being dramatic.
That I didn’t need her help to put on a dress.
But it was never about the dress. It was about being chosen. About mattering.
Because I never have. Not to anyone.
And I let myself believe I mattered to Will. Because I wanted to believe.
But clearly, winning mattered more.
The only person I can trust, the only one I’ve ever been able to trust, is me.
I blink. I’m back in the present.
“…for this. Please. We love each other.” His voice is softer now. Pleading. The man I thought I knew flickering back to life.
But now I know better.
Love doesn’t lie. Love doesn’t protect you with one hand and betray you with the other.
And just like that, the anger fades. So does the grief. The disbelief.
All that’s left is…nothing.
Will reaches for my hand.
I pull away.
“I could never love the real you,” I say, cold and clear. “Enjoy your trophy.”
I rise, straighten my dress, and walk out.
Will’s admirers can have him.