The grand ballroom was filled with luxury—crystal chandeliers, golden décor, and classical music playing in the background. Yet, despite the extravagance, nothing could overshadow the presence of the man who had just entered.
.
Every head turned. The whispers spread like wildfire.
"Is that Samuel Gebb?"
"No way... He was nothing in college!"
"How the hell did he change this much?"
Their eyes devoured my form—the black tight pants that sculpted my powerful legs, the fitted black shirt beneath my jet-black vest, and the long black coat flowing behind like the cloak of a warlord.
Every step I took was asured, exuding a silent dominance that demanded respect.
I wasn't here for nostalgia.
I was here to remind them.
To make them bow.
As I stepped further in, a woman pushed through the crowd.
Her golden-brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, her dark eyes filled with desperation. She stood before , eyes locked onto mine with a mix of anger and pain.
"Samuel, where have you been?! Do you have any idea how much I was worried?!"
Her voice was sharp, filled with emotions I did not recognize.
I stood there, unaffected, unbothered.
I tilted my head slightly, studying her. "Lady, you're the one I t last ti, right?"
Her expression twisted in shock. "Lady?! What the hell do you an, 'lady'? I'm Abigail, your wife!"
I could hear gasps from the crowd.
I could feel the stares of jealous n and the admiration of won who couldn't believe what was unfolding before them.
I exhaled, my voice cold as ice. "You say you are my wife."
I turned my gaze, scanning the room.
There—standing by the bar—were a group of n glaring at , their eyes filled with old hatred.
I smirked. "And yet, why do I feel that you, too, were responsible for turning my past life into hell?"
Her face paled.
The n clenched their fists.
The entire room held its breath.
Abigail's eyes trembled, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress as if that could stop the inevitable storm.
I took a casual step back, tilting my head slightly as my piercing erald-green eyes locked onto hers.
"I heard the news of you dating a film star," I said coldly, my voice carrying through the silent hall. "And now, here you are, claiming to be my wife?"
The murmurs grew louder.
"Wait, what?"
"Abigail Bardot was dating Joshua Lavere, wasn't she?"
"She's been seen with him multiple tis!"
The weight of my words sent a ripple through the gathered guests.
I kept my expression unreadable, my tone indifferent.
"Don't put any false rumors on my na, lady. I don't even know you."
Her eyes widened in pure shock.
"What...?"
I could see her legs trembling, her breath quickening.
"Samuel," she whispered, her voice barely holding together. "What... Where... Which news channel did you hear that?"
I exhaled slowly, shaking my head.
"It doesn't matter where I heard it." My tone was cutting, rciless. "What matters is that it was plastered everywhere. Your little outings with Joshua. The interviews. The photos of you holding his hand, of you entering hotels together.
I let the words hang in the air, letting her drown in them.
"And yet—" I took a step closer, my towering fra casting a shadow over her trembling form—"you stand before , expecting to recognize you as my wife?"
Her lip quivered, her eyes darting around, desperate for soone—anyone—to defend her.
But no one spoke.
Even the n who once mocked —who had once joined in on my humiliation—stood still, their jealousy now laced with fear.
Because the Samuel Gebb they once knew—
Was gone.
And the man standing before them was untouchable.
Abigail's breath was ragged, her hands trembling as they clutched the collar of my shirt.
"Why can't you trust ?!" she scread, her voice laced with raw frustration. "I'm your wife! We are still married on paper!"
I arched an eyebrow, completely unfazed.
Then, without a care in the world, I casually cleaned my ear with my pinky finger.
The gasps from the crowd grew louder.
I sighed dramatically before speaking, my tone dripping with mockery.
"Do all won shout like this?"
Her grip on my collar tightened as her anger boiled over.
But I rely tilted my head, my erald-green eyes filled with amusent.
"And I'm going to say this once, lady—"
I pried her hands off my shirt, gently but firmly, my fingers brushing over her trembling wrists.
"Don't hold my clothes so tightly. They're expensive."
I took a step back, rolling my shoulders as if her touch disgusted .
"Unlike you, I'm not a billionaire. I can't afford to have soone ruin my wardrobe every ti they throw a tantrum."
The crowd erupted into murmurs, watching in disbelief as I dismissed her like she was nothing.
Abigail's eyes widened in pure rage.
"Samuel... You're being cruel."
I let out a low chuckle, cold and unforgiving.
"Cruel?" I echoed, my smirk widening. "Oh, lady, I haven't even started."
I stepped closer, towering over her, my presence commanding.
"You have a film star boyfriend, right?" I asked, my tone casual, yet sharp as a blade. "Why don't you go cling to him instead? Or did you suddenly realize I was always the better choice?"
The entire ballroom had fallen into a stunned silence. All eyes were on us—on her, trembling, grasping for sothing lost, and on , standing tall, unreadable, untouchable.
I straightened my coat, adjusting the black lapels with a slow, deliberate movent. Then, with a voice as calm as the ocean before a storm, I spoke.
"Lady, I respect you for helping last ti." My erald-green eyes t hers, holding her gaze, but there was no warmth in them. "But please, don't make these kinds of accusations."
The words hit her like a slap—formal, distant, like we were strangers.
She flinched.
Gasps spread through the crowd like wildfire.
Abigail opened her mouth to say sothing—to fight back—but I didn't let her.
I sighed softly, as if her persistence was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. Then, my voice dropped, quiet yet laced with finality.
"There is no way a billionaire like you would ever marry soone like ."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Her face paled, her eyes darting around, as if begging soone to deny what I just said.
But no one spoke.
The weight of my words crushed her.
Because everyone in this room knew the truth.
She was Abigail Bardot—untouchable, powerful, cold.
And I was just a man she once mocked, humiliated, and discarded.
So why—why—
Was I the one standing here with the upper hand?
She took a step forward, her breath shaky. "Samuel... I—"
I turned away before she could finish.
Cold. Detached. Done she no longer mattered and everyone knew it.
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