A Conversation That Shouldn’t Happen

(Samuel's POV)

I was just about to take a seat in the hotel restaurant, my fingers lazily tapping the table as Samantha prepared to start our conversation.

Then, I heard it—

The unmistakable sound of high heels clicking against the floor.

I didn't need to look back.

I already knew.

Abigail.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Abigail, if you're here to shout at me for that press conference, then please make it quick."

Samantha, however, didn't seem fazed by the sudden interruption.

Instead, she smiled calmly and folded her hands together. "Well, since Ms. Bardot is also here, how about we have a group conversation?"

I turned my gaze to her, genuinely surprised.

"Ms. Samantha, there's no need for that," I said, my tone firm but controlled.

Then, I looked at Abigail and smirked. "Besides, she probably has work to do—running a company, dealing with Joshua, maintaining her image. And as for my… suicidal thoughts?" I exhaled slowly. "I think it's better to have that conversation in private rather than sharing it with a stranger."

Abigail flinched at my words.

Samantha, however, simply observed us both, her sharp, knowing eyes scanning the situation like a chess player reading the board.

Abigail finally spoke, her voice colder than before. "You're still playing this game, aren't you, Samuel?"

I chuckled. "Playing? Abigail, I don't play games anymore. I just state facts."

Samantha leaned forward slightly. "Then why not state all the facts? Together?"

I clicked my tongue, looking between the two women.

This was not the conversation I wanted to have.

But now?

It seemed I didn't have a choice.

Samantha sat calmly, adjusting her glasses as her sharp, analytical gaze locked onto Abigail.

The tension was thick—almost suffocating.

I leaned back in my chair, watching the two of them like an amused spectator.

Then Samantha spoke, her voice calm but firm.

"Ms. Bardot, you want to join or leave? Your choice."

I smirked. "Yeah, Abigail. Make up your mind. You always hated when I wasted your time, right?"

Abigail's fists clenched slightly, but she didn't immediately lash out.

She took a deep breath, straightened her coat, and sat down.

Samantha smiled slightly, nodding. "Good. Then let's talk."

I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious about how this was going to play out.

Samantha glanced at me. "Now, Mr. Gebb, where were we?"

I chuckled. "Oh, you know… somewhere between my suicidal thoughts and the tragic love story of Abigail Bardot."

Abigail's expression darkened, but Samantha remained composed.

"Then let's start from there," she said. "Why do you think it's better to keep those thoughts private?"

I exhaled, resting my elbows on the table. "Because some things don't need to be shared with people who caused them."

My emerald eyes flickered toward Abigail, who stiffened slightly.

Samantha hummed in thought. "Interesting perspective."

Then, she turned to Abigail. "And you, Ms. Bardot? Do you agree with that?"

Abigail scoffed, crossing her arms. "I don't see why we need to discuss the past over and over again."

I smirked. "Of course you don't."

Samantha observed our interaction like a scientist studying two test subjects.

Then she said something that made both of us freeze.

"Ms. Bardot, do you regret what you did to him?"

Abigail opened her mouth—then shut it.

Her eyes flickered, her jaw tightening.

I tilted my head, amused. "Go on, Abigail. Answer the question."

She swallowed, looking away. "That's not relevant."

I chuckled darkly. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Samantha smiled slightly. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Samantha sat across from me, her eyes sharp with curiosity and intrigue.

"Mr. Gebb, please tell me about your childhood."

I let out a slow sigh, leaning back in my chair. "I was an orphan. Constantly targeted for bullying and physical abuse."

Abigail's posture stiffened slightly, but I ignored her.

I continued, my voice calm—too calm.

"They used to put hot cigarette butts on my arms. I was terrified of even the smell of smoke."

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "But in reports, you mentioned you smoke heavily now. What changed?"

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head.

"Three years of marriage."

I looked directly at Abigail, my smirk dark.

"Three years of humiliation and suffering."

Samantha tapped her fingers on the table, processing my words. "So, the trauma didn't break you—it reshaped you."

I shrugged. "Something like that."

Then my gaze flickered back to Abigail. "All I ever wanted was death. And somewhere, even if Abigail wanted me to suffer, I wanted her to be happy with Joshua."

Abigail's eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting that answer.

Samantha, however, leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "You are certainly disturbed psychologically, Mr. Gebb. Care to tell me in detail?"

I smirked, noticing Abigail tense up beside me.

She was scared.

She thought I'd expose her whorish little secrets right here, in front of a psychiatrist.

But I wasn't that stupid.

I wanted to see how much she could tolerate.

I exhaled, locking eyes with Samantha. "We were in college. We loved each other deeply. And then… her company went bankrupt. Her parents committed suicide out of depression."

I paused, letting the weight of those words settle.

Then, my voice dropped slightly.

"The time she needed me the most… I left her."

Samantha's expression remained neutral, but Abigail's hands clenched into fists.

"That made her believe I only loved her for her money."

I let out a bitter chuckle. "She wasn't wrong to think that."

Samantha tilted her head. "And yet, she came back to you."

I nodded. "After her company stabilized, she approached me with marriage in mind."

A dry laugh escaped my lips. "I became the target of everyone's envy. The man who 'won' Abigail Bardot."

Then, my smile disappeared.

I turned to Abigail, whose face was pale.

"And after marriage?" I continued, my voice cold. "She humiliated me in front of everyone. She made me a laughingstock. Told me I deserved it. Because I was the reason her parents died."

Abigail looked away, but she didn't deny it.

I smirked. "And maybe she was right."

Samantha's fingers pressed together. "And Joshua Lenin?"

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair.

"At her lowest, she found solace in watching acting videos of a small country boy—Joshua Lenin. The way he performed, his hard work, his dedication… he gave her hope."

Then, I turned to Abigail, my gaze unreadable.

"He gave you hope. And I gave you despair."

Silence.

Abigail's lips trembled, but she refused to look at me.

I exhaled, my voice dropping to a whisper. "That's why I should die."

Then, I slowly unbuttoned my shirt, just enough to reveal the three gunshot wounds on my chest.

Samantha's eyes widened slightly.

"I can't die. And I regret it."

Abigail visibly flinched.

I smirked bitterly. "Even my work as a private investigator… even the high dosage of sleeping pills… they couldn't kill me."

Samantha's gaze hardened as she stared at the fresh scars. "Those are recent. Where did you get them?"

Before I could answer, a sudden breaking news report flashed across the TV screen in the restaurant.

The room fell silent as the anchor's voice echoed through the air.

---

BREAKING NEWS

"Private Investigator Samuel Gebb and his friend Liberty took down the most dangerous syndicates in London in a single night!"

"Authorities are still investigating the extent of the damage, but sources confirm that multiple criminal organizations have been completely eradicated—"

---

Abigail's face turned to shock.

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Well… that explains the fresh wounds."

I chuckled, rolling my shoulders. "Yeah. I was a little busy last night."

The entire room was stunned.

But Abigail?

She looked like she didn't even recognize me anymore.