The Questions That Matter

(Samuel's POV)

I leaned back in my chair, rolling my shoulders as the news continued to play on the TV.

The room was silent.

Samantha adjusted her glasses, still analyzing me carefully.

Abigail, on the other hand, looked stunned, pale, almost lost.

I smirked, turning to Samantha. "Ms. Samantha, any more questions you wanna ask?"

She hummed, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. "Just one."

I raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

She leaned forward slightly. "Do you want to live?"

The question caught me off guard for a second.

Even Abigail turned to look at me, her blue eyes unreadable.

I let out a slow exhale, my fingers tapping against my coffee cup. "Honestly? I don't know."

Samantha nodded, as if she expected that answer.

"You carry the weight of past betrayals, self-loathing, and the belief that you deserve suffering. But at the same time… you're still here. You still fight, still move forward. So, somewhere deep down, don't you think you want to live?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just too stubborn to die."

Samantha smiled faintly. "Either way, you're still standing. And that means something."

I sighed, finishing my coffee. "You really don't hold back, do you?"

She smirked. "It's my job, Mr. Gebb."

I glanced at Abigail, who still hadn't said a word.

She was processing everything.

But that wasn't my problem anymore.

I stood up, stretching. "Well, Ms. Samantha, this has been… interesting."

She nodded. "It has."

I grabbed my jacket, giving her a casual salute. "Let's do this again sometime. Maybe next time, I'll actually have an answer for you."

Then, without another glance at Abigail, I turned and walked away.

As I took a few steps away from the table, something made me stop.

I turned back, glancing at Abigail. "Do you have some work here, or should we leave?"

For a second, she hesitated.

Then—without a word—she stood up and followed me, doing exactly what I said.

I smirked, shaking my head. "Good."

Then, I looked at Samantha, who was watching us with her ever-curious gaze.

"Alright, Ms. Samantha, we are leaving."

Samantha simply nodded, though I could tell she wanted to say more.

As we walked out of the restaurant and into the hotel lobby, Abigail finally spoke.

"Why didn't you tell her everything?"

I exhaled, stuffing my hands in my pockets. "Because I'm not like you."

She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I stopped walking, turning to face her fully.

"You wanted to ruin me. And congratulations, Abigail Bardot—you succeeded."

She flinched.

For a moment, I thought she'd argue.

But she didn't.

She just stood there, her fists clenched.

Then, suddenly—her phone rang.

I glanced at the screen and smirked. "Looks like your little lover is calling."

Her grip on the phone tightened.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You should go, Abigail. But before you do—just tell me one thing."

She swallowed hard. "What?"

I stared into her blue eyes, my expression unreadable.

"Will you give me the divorce or not?"

Silence.

A moment stretched between us.

Her phone kept ringing.

I kept waiting.

The silence between us stretched for a moment—too long, too heavy.

Then, without a word, Abigail accepted the phone call.

Her voice was low, controlled, soft in a way she never spoke to me anymore.

And just like that—she turned and left.

I watched her go, my smirk fading into something emptier.

Typical.

Even when given a choice to finally end this pathetic, toxic marriage, she still put someone else ahead of the conversation.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.

"Well, that answers that."

No need for arguments. No need for more words.

She had already made her decision.

And so had I.

Without another glance at her retreating figure, I turned away and walked in the opposite direction.

Another Meaningless Encounter

(Samuel's POV – The Cycle Never Ends)

I wasn't in the mood for another pointless conversation.

Yet, fate—or her stubbornness—decided otherwise.

As I walked toward my hotel, enjoying the quiet, I heard the sound of hurried heels clicking behind me.

I sighed, already knowing who it was.

"Abigail, if you're here to waste my time again, make it quick."

She came to a stop beside me, looking frustrated. "You keep running away before I can say anything."

I chuckled, shoving my hands in my pockets. "And yet, every time I do, you chase me. Maybe I should start charging you for my attention."

Her jaw clenched. "Stop acting like you don't care."

I tilted my head, smirking. "I'm not acting."

She went silent for a moment, then looked away.

"I didn't leave because of him," she muttered.

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because from where I was standing, you picked up his call and walked away like I was just some stranger on the street."

She hesitated. "I needed to think."

I let out a dry laugh. "You've had years to think, Abigail. And yet, here we are, still playing this same, boring game."

She opened her mouth—then closed it.

She hated this.

Hated that she wasn't in control anymore.

I wasn't the same broken man she once tormented.

I stepped closer, my emerald eyes cold. "Let me guess. You're here to tell me you don't want a divorce. That you regret everything. That you still love me."

Her lips trembled slightly, but she didn't deny it.

I laughed. "Pathetic."

She inhaled sharply, her expression twisting. "Why do you keep pushing me away?"

I leaned in, my voice dropping. "Why do you keep holding on?"

She flinched but didn't answer.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Go home, Abigail. Or go to Joshua. It doesn't matter to me."

Then, I walked away.

And for once, she didn't follow.