34. Abigail
ABIGAIL
I’m wearing my white lucky dress as we walk into the mixer.
I’ll need all the luck I can get tonight.
The thought of facing those people makes my stomach turn.
They know about the breakup and are probably whispering all sorts of things.
Of course they wouldn’t last. Who cares?
They’re right anyway. Maybe it’s time to face the music.
My emerald necklace would have completed the look, but it’s buried deep in my jewelry box. I can’t wear it, not with his initials engraved on it. Still, no matter how much I want to, I can’t bring myself to throw it away. Just like the engagement ring sitting in my kitchen drawer.
The Empire Hotel is buzzing with more people than I’ve ever seen at a mixer.
The crowd is even bigger than the Quarterly’s.
We’re not in a bar or lounge this time but in one of the conference halls, complete with a stage and banquet-style tables.
The chatter is loud, the air sharp with perfume and expensive cologne.
Everyone looks like they’re waiting for something.
Judy’s grip on my hand tightens as she steers me forward, fingers like a vice.
“You don’t have to drag me—”
But she doesn’t let go.
Then Tina steps onto the stage, and confusion prickles down my spine. Mixers don’t have speakers. They’re for networking, not presentations.
“Thank you all for coming,” Tina says, her voice booming through the microphone. “I’m sure most of you know me from The Quarterly, but for those who don’t—”
I turn to Judy. “What’s going on?”
She winces. “You have to understand. It’s for you. I mean—yes, he donated, but I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t…” she trails off.
“Didn’t what?” I ask flatly.
“Believe him.”
I freeze.
“What did you do?”
“I just brought you here.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Left that letter.”
That letter was a waste of paper.
Then I feel it—that unmistakable tension in the air.
Heads turn to the stage as Will walks out, dressed in the same navy three-piece suit he wore the day we met.
His eyes find mine in an instant. He looks tired.
I look away. The crowd quiets, like the room itself is holding its breath.
Tina passes him the microphone with a gleaming smile.
I don’t need to hear this. I go to leave, but Judy grabs my hand.
“Just listen. Please.”
I look to Will, who pulls a paper from his pocket and begins reading it.
I’ve never seen him look nervous.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Will begins. “The last time I stood on a stage like this, I spoke about ethics. I said integrity isn’t always black and white.
But sometimes? It is. I’ve crossed lines before.
I’ve made choices I justified as strategy, as business.
I told myself they were necessary. And I didn’t care. Until I met Abigail Reed.”
He scans the crowd. There’s no smile. Just exhaustion.
“We worked opposite sides of a case. If it had come down to facts alone, she would’ve won. But this system doesn’t always run on truth. It runs on how well you can spin it, and I’m good at spinning.”
He swallows hard and looks back to his notes.
“I’m good at pushing people and getting my way.
I got my way with her when I convinced her to go out with me.
But neither of us wanted to face each other in court, so I thought I’d take care of it.
I approached her client and pressured him into settling, but he said no.
He was so confident in Abigail. So I paid him $800,000 from my own pocket to get the number they wanted, and then I lied to Abigail about it. ”
A ripple of noise rolls across the room.
“It wasn’t illegal. But it was wrong. I stole her choice. I made a mockery of her work. I did it to avoid court, protect her, but that wasn’t the only reason.”
He looks down, then straight at me.
“I did it because I couldn’t stand the idea of you knowing I failed. I couldn’t convince my client to move up. I couldn’t convince Donovan to settle. I didn’t want you to know.”
He steps down without another word. No dramatic pause. No apology.
Just…gone.
All at once, the room turns toward me. Eyes wide. Mouths whispering. I feel raw, exposed, and absolutely furious.
“What the hell is he thinking?” I say.
Judy exhales hard beside me. “He’s not like George.”
That startles me.
“He lied—”
“He lied because he loves you. It’s different. He paid a man $800,000 for you.”
Fine. So he didn’t rip Donovan off but he still went behind my back.
“I didn’t ask him to—”
“Listen to me,” Judy says.
But I don’t want to listen, I want to get out of here.
“What do you think he cares most about?” she asks.
“Himself. Winning.”
“What did he just do?”
She glances at the crowd.
“Made an idiot of himself.”
“He just showed you who he cares more about.”
Me.
And suddenly, everything shifts. The shock burns off and in its place, something hot and electric rises: anger.
“Where’s backstage?” I say.
Judy points to a door on the far right.
I don’t look back.
I find Will leaning against the wall like it’s the only thing holding him up. His hands drag down his face, as if he’s trying to erase the last few minutes.
When he sees me, he straightens, startled, like he never expected me to come.
“Are you out of your mind?” I snap.
His shoulders drop. Whatever fight he had left drains out of him.
“I thought if I told the truth—”
“You thought airing our private business in front of a room full of people would fix this?”
“I’d do anything,” he says.
“Did you even think about your reputation?”
“I don’t care about my reputation.”
“Well, I do.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “You asked me to marry you, then turned yourself into a headline. You couldn’t have written to me? Anything that didn’t involve a spotlight?”
He swallows. “It was Henry’s idea.”
Of course it was.
“He said it was romantic. That I needed to put skin in the game.” He shifts slightly. “Did it work?”
I hesitate. The tears I’ve been holding back finally break through. I blink them away.
He takes a step toward me, but I lift a hand to stop him.
“I thought you screwed Donovan over,” I say.
“I tried to. And I failed.”
“I just don’t get it. You’d rather blow up your whole life than let me see you fall short?”
“I need you to think I’m a winner.”
It sounds sad, maybe even a little pathetic, but it’s honest. I can’t pretend to understand everything going on in his head, but I believe him.
“What was it you told me? Everyone strikes out sometimes?”
“I don’t.” His shoulders drop. “Until I do.”
I want to stay angry. To tell him it’s not enough. But I can’t anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t care.
“You struck out, and now you’ve humiliated both of us.” He looks down. “And I still love you.”
This time I can’t stop him. His arms close around me, and I melt into them. The tension leaves my body like air from a balloon. He presses a kiss to the top of my head. That small, familiar gesture breaks what little distance is left between us.
“There won’t be a prenup,” he says. “And I think we should have a summer wedding. This summer.”
“Summer is in three months.” I shake my head. “I haven’t even said yes.”
“That sounds like a maybe.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Because this is exactly where I want to be. When I read his words: I miss you. It hurt, because I missed him too. So much.
“I should mention, I bought you a house. It’s in the Hills. You’ll love it.”
Of course he did.
As I lean into him I think of the woman I used to be. So sure that if I climbed high enough, worked hard enough, achieved enough, the ache inside me would disappear.
But I was wrong.
What I needed wasn’t accolades or big cases. It was this. Someone who sees me. Chooses me. Someone who loves me, first and without question.
It’s not weakness to need this. To need love. It’s human.
“Can we go look at this house then?” I ask.
“Of course we can.”
I thread my fingers through his, and we walk outside. The sun is almost down, the sky washed in soft orange and violet. I lean into him, and the quiet between us feels steady. Real.
We’re going to be okay.