A Game of Lies and Truths

(Samuel's POV)

I sighed, shaking my head before pulling the chair back and gesturing lazily.

"Alright, sit. I also don't have any case to do, so let's see what lies you have to feed me today."

Abigail hesitated for a fraction of a second before sitting down.

She straightened her coat, trying to mask her nervousness, but I had known her far too long.

Her hands were clasped together—tightly. Her jaw, slightly clenched.

She wasn't here to win an argument.

She was here to convince herself she still had power over me.

Too bad for her—that ship had sailed.

I took a slow sip of my espresso, watching her over the rim of my cup. "So? Let's hear it. What's the excuse this time?"

She exhaled, tapping her nails lightly against the table. "Samuel… do you really hate me this much?"

I smirked. "Hate you?"

I leaned back, tilting my head. "Abigail, I don't even think about you."

Her expression faltered, but she quickly recovered.

"If that were true, you wouldn't be acting like this."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Oh, sweetheart. You think I'm acting? This is just who I am now."

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening into a fist. "You weren't always like this."

I sighed, placing my cup down. "Yeah, I wasn't. I used to be a fool who worshipped the ground you walked on."

I met her gaze, my emerald eyes cold.

"But I woke up."

Silence stretched between us.

For the first time in years, Abigail Bardot had no words.

She wasn't used to this version of me—the man she couldn't manipulate anymore.

"You regret it, don't you?" I asked, watching her closely.

Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.

That was enough of an answer.

I exhaled, standing up. "Well, enjoy your coffee, Abigail. But don't waste your breath trying to rewrite history."

She said "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

I froze for a second.

Then, I chuckled.

"No, it wasn't." Then I said casually "But that's the choice you made. Live with it."

The air inside the coffee shop felt heavier, as if the weight of unspoken words pressed against the walls.

Abigail sat frozen, her blue eyes wide, but I wasn't finished.

I leaned forward, my emerald gaze piercing through her.

"After you brought those men into our bed—Ted and the others—you know I wanted to kill myself, right?"

Her fingers twitched, her breath hitching slightly.

But she said nothing.

"The way you humiliated me, the way you stripped away my dignity… I used to take sleeping pills just to get through the nights."

Her lips parted, but I cut her off.

"Do you know what PTSD feels like, Abigail?" I asked, my voice cold, almost emotionless. "Because of you, every time I closed my eyes, I heard your moans with those men."

She flinched.

Good.

Let her feel even a fraction of what I felt.

I exhaled slowly, gripping my coffee cup. "And when I finally hit my breaking point… when I put my own gun in your hands and begged you to kill me, you hesitated."

I chuckled darkly, shaking my head.

"Why, Abigail? Was it guilt? Or did you just enjoy my suffering too much?"

She trembled slightly, but still, no response.

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Look… I know when your company went bankrupt, I left you crying. I accept my mistake."

I met her eyes, unflinching. "But what you did after? That was beyond revenge. That was pure cruelty."

She bit her lip, but I wasn't going to let her escape this.

"You married me saying you still loved me. You made me believe that we had a future."

My voice dropped lower. "But all of it… was just an act, wasn't it?"

She lowered her gaze, but I kept going.

"You waited until I was yours, legally tied to you, before showing your true colors. Before bringing other men into our bed."

My fists clenched.

"Ted had your love marks on his neck, Abigail.

"And after every night you spent with those men, you'd call me with that filthy, sultry voice, as if you were still in heaven."

I exhaled, shaking my head. "Don't you think that was enough for my suffering?"

The silence between us was deafening.

Abigail Bardot had nothing to say.

Because deep down, she knew.

She had done the unforgivable.

I finished my espresso in one final sip, setting the cup down with a soft clink.

My expression completely unreadable.

"You don't deserve my hatred, Abigail."

She looked up, confused.

I smirked. "You deserve nothing from me at all."

She said an nonsense thing as her voice was desperate I heard her voice—desperate, angry.

"I told you it was a setup! Why don't you believe me?!"

I sighed.

Then, I turned back slowly, my emerald eyes cold, empty of any patience.

"A setup?" I repeated, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "You really expect me to believe that after all these years?"

She stood up abruptly, slamming her hands on the table. "Yes! I never slept with anyone, Samuel! I never cheated on you!"

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head.

"You really don't get it, do you?" I muttered.

She clenched her fists, her blue eyes burning with frustration. "What don't I get?! Tell me!"

I said with cold tone.

"It's not just about whether you spread your legs for them or not, Abigail."

She flinched at my harsh words, but I didn't stop.

"It's about what you wanted me to believe."

I said as my voice lower, sharper.

"You wanted me to suffer. You wanted me to believe you were sleeping with them. You wanted to see me break."

Her breathing grew heavier, but she didn't deny it.

Because she couldn't.

I smirked bitterly. "And you know what? You succeeded."

I said running a hand through my hair.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Abigail. Whether you did it or not, you made me live through it. And that's something I'll never forgive."

Her eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing her face.

"Samuel, I—"

I held up a hand, cutting her off.

"I don't care."

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

I gave her look—one filled with nothing.

"Go live with your truth, Abigail. And I'll live with mine."