Abigail’s Biggest Mistake

After grabbing a pack of cigarettes, I casually walked out of the shop, expecting Abigail to have disappeared by now.

But no.

She was still there.

And not just standing there—she had completely lost her damn mind.

I stopped in my tracks as I saw the shattered glass of my Maserati's passenger-side window, the shards reflecting under the streetlights.

Abigail stood beside it, breathing heavily, her hand bleeding slightly from whatever she used to smash it.

I smirked, lighting my cigarette as I leaned against the shop's doorframe. "Tch. Persistent, aren't you?"

She turned to me, furious. "You have some nerve driving a car like this when—"

I held up a finger, cutting her off. "Ah-ah, Abigail. I don't give a damn what's coming out of your mouth." I took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke before smirking. "But I do know one thing…"

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out my phone and snapping a picture of the damage.

Then another.

And another.

Her eyes widened slightly as she realized what I was doing.

"What are you—"

I tucked my phone back into my pocket. "Congratulations, Ms. Bardot. You just gave me a perfect reason to sue you for property damage."

Her face paled for a second, but then she clenched her jaw. "Samuel, don't be ridiculous—"

I chuckled. "No, no, no. You see, this is how the law works. You damage someone's property? You pay for it. And considering this is a Maserati MC20, you're looking at a pretty expensive repair bill."

She stepped closer, frustration all over her face. "You wouldn't dare—"

I took another drag, smirking as I blew the smoke out slowly. "Oh, I absolutely would."

Her hands shook slightly—whether from anger or realization, I didn't care.

I flicked the cigarette away, stepping past her and opening my car door.

"See you in court, Ms. Bardot."

With that, I started the engine, the deep roar filling the air as I sped off, leaving her standing in the middle of the street like the fool she was.

As I drove through the city streets, the deep roar of the Maserati's engine filled the silence of the night. My mind drifted back to Abigail's foolish tantrum.

"CEO of Bardot Industries, huh?"

I smirked. "Well, paying for compensation shouldn't be a problem for her."

And just as I thought that, my phone screen lit up with a notification.

[Money Transfer Received: $85,000]

I raised an eyebrow before chuckling. "Tch. That was fast."

I didn't even have to file a case. She must have realized that the CEO of Bardot Industries making headlines over a petty lawsuit would ruin her image.

"I knew it. She can't stand the thought of going to court."

Still smirking, I flicked open my cigarette pack, pulling one out before lighting it with a slow exhale.

"Pathetic."

If she thought money would erase her stupidity, she was wrong.

But at least I got something out of her reckless arrogance.

Now, time to focus on the real mission.

The city lights blurred past me as I drove toward the warehouse, the Maserati slicing through the streets like a shadow in the night.

I flicked some ash from my cigarette, my mind already calculating my next moves.

"I could use Void Steps and be there in an instant…"

But I didn't.

Saving my energy is more important.

I didn't know what I'd find at that warehouse. If Gregory was still alive, I needed to be ready for anything.

I exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"No mistakes. No wasted movements. Only results."

The warehouse wasn't far now.

And once I arrived…

(Abigail's POV)

The penthouse office of Bardot Industries was silent—except for the sharp click-clack of Abigail's heels as she paced near the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The city skyline stretched before her, glowing with life, yet all she could think about was him.

Samuel Gebb.

Her hands clenched into fists. Even after transferring the money to him, the frustration burning inside her refused to die down.

Money was nothing to her. She could wipe out that amount in seconds.

But Samuel… he didn't care about the money.

He cared about hurting her ego.

She clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her palms.

"Damn you, Samuel."

For years, she had played the role of a powerful, untouchable CEO—controlling everything in her life, from business deals to people.

But Samuel… he refused to be controlled.

He should have been begging her for forgiveness, for a second chance. Instead, he mocked her. Humiliated her. Walked away without a care in the world.

And worst of all—he didn't even hate her anymore.

Hatred meant he still cared.

But that smirk… that indifference…

It told her she had lost all power over him.

Her reflection in the window stared back at her, eyes burning with frustration.

"You think you can just walk away, Samuel? That you're above me now?"

She grabbed a glass paperweight from her desk and, in one sharp motion, hurled it across the room.

CRASH!

It shattered against the wall, fragments scattering across the floor.

Her breath was uneven, her heart pounding.

She had won against so many men before—but Samuel?

Samuel was winning against her.

And that…

That was something she could not accept.

Abigail took a deep breath, forcing herself to regain her composure.

Samuel wasn't worth her anger.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

Her gaze drifted toward her desk, where a neatly sealed envelope lay among other documents.

She reached for it, unfolding the crisp invitation inside.

[INVITATION]

Volkov Industries Annual Banquet

Hosted by Mikhail Volkov

A gathering of the wealthiest and most influential business figures.

She scanned the details, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Mikhail Volkov, huh?"

Volkov Industries was untouchable—one of the few companies Abigail truly respected.

Unlike the men she crushed in the business world, Mikhail never showed weakness.

And now, an invitation to his private banquet?

This wasn't just any event—this was a power move.

Her mind shifted gears, leaving thoughts of Samuel behind.

"Focus, Abigail."

If she wanted more power, more influence, this banquet was where she needed to be.

With a deep breath, she straightened her posture, adjusting her expensive silk blouse.

Samuel could play his little games.

But Abigail Bardot?

She was about to make bigger moves.