Chapter 57

Abigail’s expression remained perfectly calm. She sipped her coffee in silence, offering no response.

Quentin continued, “My ex-girlfriend accidentally got pregnant, and I told her to get rid of the child, but she didn’t. Then she showed up with the kid, trying to blackmail me. My parents decided that since he’s my child, I should pay child support every month. But don’t worry. I’m planning to move abroad—she won’t be a problem for you.”

Gabriel hastily chimed in, “Mr. Coley, you’re so considerate. My daughter is lucky to have caught your eye. Having a child is no issue. Abigail’s done time before, so she’s hardly in a position to be choosy.”

“Abby, what do you think?” Quentin asked.

Abigail cringed at the way Quentin called her. She set her coffee down, calmly met Quentin’s gaze, and said, “Mr. Coley, I grew up in an orphanage and spent three years in prison. You’re supposed to be way out of my league. How is it that having a son by accident suddenly makes you a good match for me? Or—”

She paused, turning her gaze to Gabriel. “Or did my father set us up because, in his eyes, you’re only good enough for someone like me?”

Panic flashed across Gabriel’s face. “What nonsense are you spouting?!”

Quentin let out a soft chuckle. “Abby, you’ve got it all wrong. My parents and I don’t care about a woman’s background—what matters is whether we click.”

“Oh, I see,” Abigail said lightly. “I guess my family’s obsession with social status has rubbed off on me. My apologies.” She appeared to be belittling herself, but every word was a barbed jab at her father.

Quentin glanced at Gabriel, whose face was alternating between pale and livid, and felt immensely pleased. “We haven’t ordered yet,” he said. “Mr. Gibson, why don’t you go to the kitchen? The chefs here know me. Just mention my name—they’ll know what to prepare.”

“Alright,” Gabriel replied. He stood up, shooting Abigail a warning glare while saying gently, “Abby, have a nice chat with Mr. Coley. Don’t say anything reckless.”

Abigail ignored him.

Once Gabriel was gone, Quentin got up, moved to sit beside Abigail, and looked at her. His smile was warm, but there was something unsettling beneath it. His gaze turned lecherous as it moved slowly from her face down her body.

Abigail felt like she was a product on display. Quentin’s stare made her stomach churn, and she immediately became guarded.

In rage, she trembled uncontrollably. She shifted away from him and snapped, “Stop looking at me like that!”

“I always thought a girl who’d done time would be dull,” Quentin drawled, his tone dripping with the perverse thrill of a predator toying with its prey. “But you—you’re quite the little firecracker.”

He wedged himself closer, blocking the space between her and the table. “When I came in with your father earlier, I saw you with Timothy from Halden Group,” he said. “You’re after the Celestial Group project, too, aren’t you? If you sleep with me, I’ll make sure you secure it. How does that sound?”

Abigail sprang to her feet, backing away as she warned him, “Stop it! You’ve crossed the line.” Then her back hit the wall behind her.

Quentin lunged forward, pinned her against his chest, and leaned in to kiss her. “How is this out of line? Your father already sold you to me—you’re mine now. You even spread your legs for that old man Timothy. Why play hard to get with me?!”

Abigail fought back desperately, but Quentin easily overpowered her. Pinned against the unyielding wall, she had nowhere to go.

Just as his lips were about to touch her face, Abigail’s mind exploded with panic. In a flash, she was thrust back into her prison days.

Quentin’s face blurred into several different people, indistinct and unrecognizable.

They surrounded her, taking turns slapping her across the face while hurling the vilest obscenities. Her clothes were ripped open, too.

Abigail’s hand shot out, groped across the table until her fingers closed around the ashtray. Then, without hesitation, she smashed it down on Quentin’s head.

A sharp pain shot through Quentin’s forehead as warm blood trickled down his face. He touched his forehead, saw the blood, and exploded. “Damn you, bitch! You dare hit me?!”

He slapped Abigail hard across the face. Then he gripped her short hair with one hand and clutched her throat with the other, pressing her head against the wall. Eyes blazing with fury, he snarled, “You need a good lesson, don’t you?!”

Pain shot through Abigail’s scalp, and her breathing turned ragged from the pressure on her throat.

Her eyes turned bloodshot, but she managed to switch the ashtray to her right hand. She then clawed at Quentin’s eyes with her free hand, her eyes glinting with nothing but murderous hatred.

Quentin barely managed to jerk his head away from her nails. ‘Damn, this bitch is stronger than I expected,’ he cursed inwardly. In that moment of distraction, his grip on Abigail’s throat loosened.

Seizing the moment, Abigail swung the ashtray in her right hand to smash it full force into his head.

Quentin sensed the attack and jerked his head aside, but not fast enough—the ashtray smashed into his cheekbone. He howled in pain.

Abigail felt the warmth of fresh blood splatter across her face, her right eye now red.

Quentin let go of Abigail, staggered back two steps, clutching his throbbing face, and shouted, “You’re crazy. If you kill me, you’ll just end up back in prison!”

Abigail ignored him. Her face splattered with blood and expressionless, she stepped onto the chair in one swift motion, lunged forward, grabbed his hair, and slammed his head down onto the table.

A wave of terror washed over Quentin—he finally realized that Abigail truly meant to kill him. With all his might, he shoved her away.

The ashtray clattered to the table with a loud crash.

Abigail frowned, her wrist throbbing with pain. Seeing Quentin try to run, she raised the ashtray again, ready to bring it down on the back of his head.

“Abigail!” A familiar voice pierced through the haze in her mind, jolting her back to reality. Her hand froze mid-swing.