Gradually drifting further and further away, books disappearing.

Only a few days later, the headlines blared: Christian had paid a fortune for Abigail at auction.

Abigail was now signed to Christian’s entertainment company. Rumors about her and her boss had circulated for years—but this time, unlike before, Christian’s Group openly acknowledged that their president was actively pursuing Miss Abigail.

According to the announcement, Christian had divorced his ex-wife long ago. As for Miss Abigail, she had not yet accepted his advances and was still considering them.

Well-wishers flooded the comments with blessings for the couple, and many voiced their envy of Abigail.

【Christian is so devoted and handsome. If I were Abigail, I’d be over the moon.】

【Our Abby is a total catch! She’s got her pick of wealthy bachelors. Let’s be real—Christian’s divorced. If anything, *he’s* the one marrying up.】

Samantha smiled faintly when she saw the news.

Christian and Abigail had already done everything behind closed doors. Yet publicly, he played the humble admirer, acting as if she were out of his league.

He really did think of everything for her.

Setting the magazine aside, Samantha headed upstairs to pack.

Just then, her phone rang—Christian.

“Abigail’s birthday party is tonight. You’re coming.”

“I don’t want to.”

They were already divorced. Samantha refused to play along any longer.

But Christian wasn’t asking.

“Samantha, when I say come, you come. No arguments.”

“The divorce isn’t final for another month. Legally, I’m still your husband. You *will* be there.”

He hung up.

Samantha listened to the dial tone, bitterness sharp in her throat.

He called himself her husband—yet paraded openly with another woman.

In the end, she went. She just wanted to get through this last month quietly, then leave. No more conflict.

Abigail’s birthday party was lavish, drawing celebrities from every corner of the city—clearly arranged with great care by Christian.

The two appeared hand in hand, soaking in the guests’ flattery and toasts.

When it came time to cut the cake, Abigail blew out the candles and made a wish. The moment she opened her eyes, Christian laid a key before her.

“Abigail, this is for you—the estate at the peak of South Mountain.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“So Christian was the one who bought that three-billion-dollar house on South Mountain—for Abigail.”

“Incredibly generous. She’s hit the jackpot.”

On stage, Abigail looked genuinely moved. Amid the cheers, she rose shyly onto her toes, leaning in as though to kiss Christian’s cheek.

But Christian suddenly took control—cupping the back of her head and capturing her lips in a deep, claiming kiss.

The venue erupted. Screams and applause pushed the atmosphere to its peak.

Samantha slipped away alone into the garden for air.

She stood in the breeze, clearing her head, and was about to turn back when the sliding door opened.

Abigail swept out, posture haughty.

“Samantha, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Why?”

Abigail stopped in front of her and smiled.

“I had a reason, of course. Do you know why I insisted Christian invite you tonight?”

So it was Abigail’s idea.

Samantha regarded her calmly.

“Because I wanted you to see with your own eyes how much Christian dotes on me, and…” Abigail’s smile turned cold. “I wanted you… to be punished by him.”