Chapter 2

Abigail's POV

Camera flashes were blindingly bright, piercing through my clouded consciousness like lightning. Reporters frantically pressed their shutters, firing questions from all directions, their voices weaving into a cacophony in my ears. I desperately clutched the sheet tightly around my naked body, humiliation and anger intertwining, nearly breaking me completely.

"Miss Rodriguez, what is your relationship with Mr. Jackson?" "How long have you been seeing each other privately?" "Mr. Howard, did you know about your daughter's relationship with the Starlane Group CEO?"

Through tear-filled eyes of shame, I inadvertently caught a glance exchanged between my father and one of the reporters. In that moment, realization hit me like ice water poured over my head. This was no accident at all. I was merely a sacrificial pawn—offered up for my father's benefit.

Overwhelming anger boiled within me, mixed with a bone-deep sense of betrayal. My body trembled uncontrollably, my cheeks burning hot as if on fire, shame cutting like a blade through my dignity. How I wished I could completely disappear from this world at that moment.

Nicholas was awakened by the camera flashes, quickly rousing from sleep. He sat up with perfect composure, simultaneously pulling the sheet higher to protect my privacy while using his own body to block the reporters' view.

"Everyone, leave immediately," his voice was calm yet carried a sharp authority that made several reporters involuntarily step backward.

My father stepped forward, wearing a carefully crafted expression of concern. "Mr. Jackson, my daughter deserves an explanation. After... what happened, what are your intentions toward her?"

The air in the room was suffocatingly heavy. I felt Nicholas's body instantly tense, but his voice remained steady and powerful.

"Please give us some privacy, and I hope these photos will be deleted, or else..." Nicholas's voice was low, "Regarding my relationship with Miss Rodriguez, I will take full responsibility. Now, please everyone leave."

At my father's barely perceptible signal, the reporters slowly withdrew from the room, leaving behind a suffocating silence. Nicholas bent down to pick up the clothes scattered on the floor, handing me a coat.

"Put this on first," he gave me a complex look, then turned to my father, "Mr. Howard, please give us some time to talk privately."

My father hesitated for a moment, but eventually left the room. Nicholas quickly dressed himself.

"I'll wait for you in the lobby in five minutes, we need to talk." With that, he also left the room, giving me space for privacy and the dignity to dress.

I mechanically put on my clothes, tears welling in my eyes, yet stubbornly refusing to fall. When I walked out of the room, my father was waiting in the hallway. Looking at his face, both familiar yet strange, I felt only coldness and distance in my heart.

I had always understood that he never truly loved me. But witnessing him unhesitatingly push me into the center of a media storm for his own benefit still sent a sharp pain through my heart.

"Why did you do this?" I looked directly at him.

My father was silent for a moment, a faint trace of fatigue and helplessness appearing on his face. "I didn't want it to come to this, but I truly had no choice. The company is in crisis, and Bruce has offended powerful people, they want to send him to prison... I had to do this."

"Isn't Bruce your son?" My voice rose, anger making my entire body shake, "How could you do this to him? To me?"

His expression instantly cooled, "He's not my biological son. I adopted him only because I saw his abilities and potential. Who could have imagined he would make such a mistake? If he hadn't implicated the company, I wouldn't have involved you."

A bone-chilling cold spread from my spine throughout my body. I could hardly believe my ears, couldn't believe these cruel words came from the mouth of the man I called father.

"Besides," he continued, his tone carrying a hint of calculation, "marrying Nicholas might not be bad for you. Through this marriage, we can gain his help and support, you should understand, this is the best arrangement for all of us."

My mother's image involuntarily appeared in my mind. She had been tormented by depression all her life, her emotions constantly unstable. My father's coldness and betrayal had worsened her already fragile mental state.

That year, when she discovered my father's affair, and he even brought home a daughter several years younger than me, her condition deteriorated rapidly, ultimately leading to her depression-induced death.

Only now did I fully understand a cruel fact: to my father, family and affection had always been merely tools to be used. He had used my mother before, and now he was using me.

"Don't make excuses for your selfish interests," I said coldly, "you're just using me to climb higher on the social ladder."

Annoyance at being exposed flashed across his face. "Just tell me straight, do you want to save Bruce or not?"

I fell into brief contemplation, recalling the moments shared with Bruce. After my mother's death, it was Bruce who had always protected me in the Howard home, giving me warmth and strength.

We grew up together, our childhood friendship gradually growing into a deeper relationship. Just when I was hesitating whether to take things further with him, he suddenly offended powerful people and faced imprisonment.

All these days, I had been running around trying to find a way to help him escape this crisis, yet always in vain. Now, getting Nicholas's help to save him from imprisonment seemed the only realistic hope.

Faced with my father's threats and the powerlessness of reality, I had no choice but to silently agree to become a bargaining chip in his exchange of interests. Thinking of Nicholas, a deep sense of guilt welled up in my heart—he was completely innocent in this farce, yet because of me, he was forced to give up the freedom of marriage that should have been his.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped toward the lobby where Nicholas was waiting. His demeanor was composed, yet his eyes were distant and cold. We were about to begin a marriage without a foundation of love.


Two weeks after Bruce had offended powerful people and was temporarily detained, I finally gathered the courage to visit him at the detention center. Walking into that cold meeting room, under the harsh lights, with vigilant guards patrolling around, everything made my heart ache like being stabbed with a knife.

When Bruce appeared on the other side of the glass, I could hardly recognize the person before me. The short time in detention had already begun to change him—his once warm eyes now vigilantly guarded, his shoulders tense, his entire being shrouded in an invisible shell of defense.

Fortunately, he wouldn't have to go to prison, just leave the country to lie low for a while. He could return after a few years.

"I'm getting married," I softly uttered these words, each one feeling like a bloody cut in my throat, "Take care of yourself. I won't come to see you off on the day you leave."

The moment I spoke these words, I felt my heart being forcibly torn in two. Tears welled in my eyes, but I struggled to hold them back. I couldn't break down in front of him, couldn't let him see my vulnerability at such a moment. Not now, not here.

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