Chapter 18 Abbie #3
"And you." I turn to my sister. "You came here with a child in a stroller to accuse my husband of fathering someone else's baby. Do you even hear how absurd that sounds?"
"The baby—"
"Is not Gray's." I keep my voice steady, aware of phones pointed our direction, aware that this moment will be screenshot and dissected within the hour. "You claimed it was. On stage. Into a microphone. And you knew it was a lie when you said it."
"I never meant—"
"You meant exactly what you said. You wanted attention, you wanted leverage, and you thought his name would get you both.
" I step closer, and she actually flinches.
"I don't know who the father is. That's your business.
But you don't get to keep using my husband as a prop in whatever drama you're staging. "
"He's not your husband anymore."
"Actually, he is. Separated isn't divorced.
And even if it were—" I straighten my spine, feel the cameras on us, feel the weight of this public moment.
"I didn't lose him, Delaney. I left him.
Learn the difference before you try to keep anything, a reputation, a narrative, whatever it is you're protecting here. "
Her face goes pale.
"That's enough," my mother snaps. "You're being cruel."
"I'm being honest. For once in this family, someone is being honest."
"We came here out of concern—"
"You came here to corner me. To shame me into doing what you want, the way you always have." I point down the sidewalk. "Leave."
"Abigail—"
"Out. Now. Before I say something we can't come back from."
My mother draws herself up to her full height, which is still three inches shorter than me. "When this blows up in your face, and it will, mark my words, don't expect me to pick up the pieces."
"I never have."
She sweeps past me, imperious as ever. Delaney follows with the stroller, pausing beside me.
"I didn't mean for it to—" she starts.
"Yes you did. You meant for all of it." I keep my voice steady through sheer force of will. "Now please leave."
The cameras flash as they turn away.
"Abbie! Any comment on the affair allegations?"
"Mrs. Valentine, is it true Grayson has a secret child?"
"Can you confirm your separation is permanent?"
My mother pauses, angling herself toward the cameras again. Delaney hangs back, looking less certain now that the spotlight is actually on them.
"No comment," I say loudly, stepping in front of both of them. "There's no secret child. There was no affair. My husband addressed this directly in his interview this morning, which I'm sure you've all read, and anyone spreading different information should check their sources."
"But Mrs. Valentine—"
"My name is Abbie Montgomery." The name makes the point I need to make. "And I don't have anything else to say about rumors that have no basis in reality. Have a nice day."
I pass Roberto and go upstairs. Wren follows me up, her expression a complicated mix of horror and admiration.
"Holy shit," she says.
"I know."
"You just, in front of cameras—"
"I know."
"That was incredible."
Inside, I catch the edge of my desk, my knees shaking.
"Hey." Wren is beside me instantly, guiding me into my chair. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."
"I can't—" My voice cracks. "I need to finish the deck."
"The deck can wait."
"The client meeting is Wednesday—"
"Abbie." She crouches in front of me, hands on my knees. "The deck is fine. You did ninety percent of it yesterday. The only thing you need to do right now is breathe."
I try. The air comes in stuttery and wrong, like my lungs have forgotten how to work.
"That was my mother," I manage. "That was... she brought paparazzi to my office."
"I know."
"She was going to ambush me on camera. Make me look—" I don't know how to finish the sentence. Foolish. Delusional. The stupid wife who still believes her cheating husband.
"She didn't succeed." Wren's voice is firm. "You walked out there and handled it yourself. You were amazing."
"I was terrified."
"Doesn't matter. You still did it."
My hands are still shaking. I press them flat against the desk and focus on the solidity of it, the cool wood under my palms.
"The clip is already spreading," Wren says gently. "I'm getting notifications. Someone recorded the whole thing."
"Great."
"It actually is great. You came across as calm and confident and completely in control. The comments are already on your side."
I leave my phone face-down. I need to finish this deck.
"The Meridian presentation," I say. "I need to add the case studies section and the ROI projections. Can you pull the numbers from the Harrington campaign?"
Wren studies me for a long moment. Then she nods, understanding that I need this, the work, the focus, the pretense of normalcy.
"Yeah," she says. "I'll get them right now."
Wren leaves. I open the presentation.
There is no one in this life or the next for me but her.
Flowers aren't enough. Grand gestures aren't enough. The interview matters more. So does whether he actually stops when he says he will.
My phone buzzes. Wren's name on the screen.
The clip has 400K views already. You're trending.