Chapter 4 - The Price of Standing Beside Her
Vanessa Cole entered wearing cream silk and a look of annoyance.
Then she saw Abigail.
The annoyance vanished.
Sebastian closed his eyes for half a second.
That was all Abigail needed.
Eight years of marriage taught a person the smallest details.
The pause before a lie.
The tightening around the mouth.
The eyes that moved toward an exit.
Sebastian had just looked trapped.
Vanessa stopped.
“Oh.”
Abigail almost laughed.
That was it?
Oh?
Three years of suspicion.
Two years of being told she was jealous.
Insecure.
Paranoid.
Too emotional.
And the woman Abigail had once caught texting her husband at two in the morning walked into their mansion as if she owned a key.
Maybe she did.
“Why are you here?” Sebastian asked.
Vanessa looked confused.
“You told me to come.”
Claire Benton became very still.
Dante’s eyebrows lifted.
Abigail said nothing.
Sebastian’s voice sharpened.
“I did not.”
Vanessa pulled out her phone.
“You texted me twenty minutes ago.”
“Show me.”
She glanced around.
“No.”
Abigail finally spoke.
“Please.”
Vanessa looked at her.
The two women had met many times.
Charity dinners.
Corporate galas.
A birthday party where Vanessa had complimented Abigail’s dress and later told Sebastian, apparently within Abigail’s hearing, that “certain cuts were unforgiving.”
Sebastian had laughed.
Abigail had gone home early.
Now Vanessa’s confidence cracked.
“This is awkward.”
Abigail smiled without warmth.
“More than you know.”
Claire stepped forward.
“Ms. Cole, I’m Abigail Bennett’s attorney. You are not required to show us anything.”
Vanessa blinked.
“Attorney?”
Sebastian cut in.
“Vanessa, leave.”
Dante spoke.
“I wouldn’t.”
Sebastian rounded on him.
“This is not your concern.”
Dante looked toward his children, now seated together on a sofa under the supervision of the housekeeper.
Matteo was pretending not to listen.
Badly.
“It keeps becoming my concern.”
Vanessa looked between them.
“Sebastian, what happened?”
Abigail answered.
“I found the trust.”
Vanessa went white.
There.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Abigail’s chest tightened.
“You know.”
Vanessa stared at Sebastian.
“You said she’d never find out.”
The words dropped into the room like broken glass.
Sebastian’s face changed.
“Stop talking.”
Vanessa’s eyes widened.
“You told me—”
“Stop.”
Dante moved between them before Sebastian could approach.
No threat.
No touch.
Just presence.
Vanessa looked at Abigail.
Her eyes filled with panic.
“I didn’t know he forged your name.”
Abigail felt the ground disappear.
Claire immediately said, “Do not answer any more questions without counsel.”
Vanessa ignored her.
“I swear.”
Abigail’s voice came out barely audible.
“You knew about the trust.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Two years.”
Sebastian exploded.
“Vanessa!”
Matteo jumped to his feet.
Dante turned.
“Stay with Rosa.”
The housekeeper moved closer to the children.
Lucia clutched her rabbit.
Abigail hated that the little girl had heard Sebastian shout.
She hated that she cared.
She hated that she had become accustomed to men raising voices and calling it normal.
“Sebastian,” she said.
He looked at her.
“Don’t yell.”
The simplicity caught him off guard.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“This is my house.”
Abigail almost smiled.
“We’re still working that part out.”
Dante looked down, concealing what might have been amusement.
Sebastian saw it.
His anger deepened.
“You think this is funny?”
Abigail shook her head.
“No. I think it’s over.”
Something flickered across Sebastian’s face.
Not sadness.
Possession.
“You signed the divorce.”
“I know.”
“So leave.”
Claire spoke.
“She will, when I advise her to.”
Sebastian stared.
“You cannot occupy my residence.”
Claire lifted a document.
“Until ownership is clarified, I strongly recommend everyone stop making declarations about whose residence this is.”
Vanessa took a step backward.
“I should go.”
Abigail looked at her.
“Did you sleep with him?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Abigail—”
“I need one answer.”
Vanessa looked at Sebastian.
That was answer enough.
Still, Abigail wanted the words.
“Did you?”
Vanessa whispered, “Yes.”
The pain was strange.
Not explosive.
Not cinematic.
Just a quiet internal collapse.
As though some last board had been removed from a bridge already falling.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
Abigail nodded.
Two years.
Exactly when Sebastian began suggesting separate bedrooms.
Exactly when he started commenting on Abigail’s weight more often.
Exactly when he stopped inviting her to investor dinners.
Exactly when every argument ended with him telling her she should be grateful he remained married to her.
The cruelty had not been random.
It had been preparation.
He had made her feel unlovable so she would believe abandonment was deserved.
Abigail looked at him.
“You made me think it was because of my body.”
He did not answer.
“You told me nobody in your world wanted to look at me.”
“Abigail—”
“You told me I had stopped trying.”
“This is not productive.”
“You told me you were embarrassed when photographers caught us together.”
He glanced toward the children.
“Not in front of them.”
Abigail stared.
“Now you care what children hear?”
Dante’s expression became cold.
Sebastian snapped, “You’re enjoying this.”
“No,” Abigail said. “I’m finally hearing myself say it.”
He went silent.
That mattered.
For years Sebastian had decided when arguments ended.
He walked away.
He closed doors.
He told her she was irrational.
She apologized.
Not this time.
Vanessa was crying now.
“I’m sorry.”
Abigail looked at her.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Would you be sorry if we hadn’t found the accounts?”
Vanessa said nothing.
Abigail nodded.
“Then you’re scared. That isn’t the same thing.”
Dante glanced at her.
Respect.
She saw it.
This time she did not look away.
Claire cleared her throat.
“Vanessa, the beneficiary designation.”
Vanessa wiped her face.
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
“What did Sebastian tell you?”
“That Abigail had no living family and that the trust would eventually revert to him.”
Abigail’s head snapped toward Sebastian.
“My mother created it for me.”
Vanessa nodded miserably.
“He said you didn’t understand the documents.”
Abigail laughed softly.
The sound made Sebastian uncomfortable.
Of all the truths that day, that one was the ugliest.
He had built his theft on the assumption that she was too stupid to notice.
Maybe he had been right for a while.
Not anymore.
Claire asked, “Why were you named beneficiary?”
Vanessa’s mouth trembled.
“He said we were going to get married.”
Sebastian looked away.
Abigail experienced something she did not expect.
Pity.
Not much.
But enough.
Vanessa had participated in the affair.
She had benefited from the lie.
Yet Sebastian had been running the same machinery on both women.
Promise.
Control.
Secrecy.
Dependence.
The difference was that Vanessa had believed she was winning.
“You thought I was the obstacle,” Abigail said.
Vanessa whispered, “Yes.”
“You weren’t replacing me.”
Vanessa looked at her.
“You were becoming me.”
Sebastian’s face hardened.
“That’s enough.”
Two women turned toward him simultaneously.
“No,” Abigail said.
Vanessa said, “No.”
Dante’s mouth almost curved.
Sebastian looked suddenly smaller.
Claire arranged for Vanessa to speak with investigators separately.
Evelyn provided copies of emails.
Dante’s lawyer secured the archive room.
By evening, the mansion had become a temporary legal war zone.
Abigail sat in the kitchen because she could not bear the foyer.
Someone placed tea in front of her.
She looked up.
Dante.
“You don’t strike me as a tea person.”
“I’m not.”
She looked at the cup.
“Then why?”
“Rosa told me to bring it.”
Abigail smiled.
“So the terrifying Mr. Moretti takes orders from his housekeeper?”
“Everyone with survival instincts takes orders from Rosa.”
She laughed.
This time it did not become a sob.
Dante sat across from her.
The kitchen was quiet.
The children had been fed.
Nico fell asleep on the sofa.
Lucia had made Abigail promise not to leave without saying goodbye.
Matteo had asked whether lawyers were “good guys.”
Claire answered, “Sometimes.”
Matteo decided he liked her.
Abigail wrapped both hands around the cup.
“Why are you still here?”
Dante considered.
“Do you want me to leave?”
She appreciated the answer.
“No.”
“Then that’s why.”
She studied him.
“You do this often?”
“What?”
“Step into strangers’ divorces?”
“Only Thursdays.”
She laughed unexpectedly.
Dante smiled.
It changed his face.
He became less intimidating.
More tired.
More human.
Abigail looked away first.
Dangerous.
Not him.
Hope.
Hope was dangerous.
“What were you doing here?” she asked.
“Business.”
“With Sebastian.”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Acquisition.”
“Are you still doing it?”
“No.”
“Because of me?”
“Because I don’t partner with men who forge signatures.”
“You didn’t know that when you arrived.”
“No.”
“So the deal is dead?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Dante.”
He met her eyes.
“Ninety-two million.”
She nearly dropped the cup.
“You walked away from ninety-two million dollars?”
“I walked away from Sebastian Crane.”
“That’s not the same thing?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He leaned back.
“My father taught me that the most expensive mistakes usually arrive dressed as profitable opportunities.”
Abigail smiled faintly.
“Your father sounds wise.”
“He was.”
The past tense landed.
“I’m sorry.”
Dante nodded.
“My wife died four years ago.”
Abigail looked toward the room where the children slept.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
There was no dramatic pause.
No forced intimacy.
Just shared recognition of loss.
Abigail liked that too.
“You raise them alone?”
“With Rosa, two tutors, a driver, my sister, three cousins, and an entire family who ignores boundaries.”
“That doesn’t sound alone.”
“It feels alone at three in the morning when one child has a fever, another is vomiting, and the third has decided the hallway is haunted.”
Abigail smiled.
“Which one?”
“Matteo.”
“I would have guessed Nico.”
“Everyone does. Matteo weaponizes confidence.”
She laughed.
Dante watched her.
Not her body.
Her.
The distinction was so unfamiliar she almost recoiled.
“You should do that more,” he said.
“What?”
“Laugh.”
There it was.
The kind of line Sebastian used early in their marriage.
Abigail stiffened.
Dante saw it immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“That sounded like an instruction.”
“You noticed?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not used to men noticing.”
“That sounds like their failure.”
Not yours.
He didn’t say it.
He didn’t need to.
Abigail looked down.
“I don’t know what happens next.”
“Tonight?”
“My life.”
Dante considered.
“You get a hotel.”
“I can afford three nights.”
“You have thirty million dollars.”
“Maybe.”
“You have more than enough for a hotel.”
“Frozen trust.”
“Right.”
She smiled bitterly.
“So technically I may own this mansion and still be unable to buy dinner.”
“I’ll loan you—”
“No.”
“Fine.”
He accepted it immediately.
No argument.
No wounded pride.
Abigail looked at him.
“I expected you to push.”
“You said no.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s usually what no means.”
She went quiet.
Dante’s eyes softened.
That simple sentence almost broke her more than Sebastian’s cruelty.
Because it revealed how low the bar had been.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Claire.
CALL ME. NOW.
Abigail answered.
“Claire?”
“Where are you?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Is Dante there?”
Abigail looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Put me on speaker.”
Dante straightened.
Abigail did.
Claire’s voice filled the room.
“We found where the missing Bellweather money went.”
Abigail gripped the phone.
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Sebastian?”
“Partly.”
“What does that mean?”
Claire took a breath.
“The largest transfer was made six months ago.”
“How much?”
“Twelve million.”
Dante went still.
“To where?”
Claire hesitated.
Then said a name.
Dante stood so fast the chair scraped backward.
Abigail looked at him.
“What?”
May you like
His face had changed completely.
Because the money had been transferred to a company belonging to Dante Moretti.
