Abby’s POV
He just smirked, that infuriatingly sexy curve of his lips returning as he focused back on the road.
“I said nothing.”
He refused to elaborate, leaving his possessive declaration hanging in the air between us.
When we pulled up to the Sinclair Residence, he didn’t just unlock the doors.
He got out, walked around the front of the car, and opened my door for me.
Ugh.
Such a gentleman.
I stepped out, looking up at him through my lashes.
“Oh,” I teased, “I didn’t know I married a gentleman.”
He didn’t laugh.
He stepped closer, invading my personal space until I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
Our gazes locked, the air suddenly thick with tension.
His eyes dropped to my lips, lingering there for a heartbeat that felt like an eternity.
I held my breath, waiting.
But instead of my lips, he leaned in and pressed a warm, firm kiss to my cheek.
His breath tickled my ear as he pulled back.
“I’ll see you when I see you… wife.”
He got back in the car and drove away without looking back.
I stood there, touching my cheek, left with a giddy, fluttering heart.
Damn.
I stared at his taillights until they disappeared into the night.
Nicholas was safe, predictable, and fake.
Matteo was…
electric.
I finally turned and headed toward the entrance, my mood soaring.
But the moment I stepped into the hallway, the bubble burst.
I heard crying coming from the living room.
Loud, dramatic crying.
“Dad! I really don’t wanna live downstairs! It’s dark and damp! I’ll stay out of Sis’s room, okay? I promise!”
I walked quietly toward the archway and leaned lazily against the wall, crossing my arms to watch the show.
Erina was clinging to my father’s arm, pulling on it like a toddler throwing a tantrum in a toy store, big, fat tears welling up in her eyes.
Josefina sat beside them, dabbing at dry eyes with a handkerchief, pretending to look pitiful and helpless—the victim of my cruelty.
Stuck between the two of them, my father looked like he was about to explode.
His face was dark, his jaw clenched, and his mood was clearly in the gutter.
In the background, the house staff were quietly moving back and forth, carrying boxes and clothes to the guest rooms on the first floor.
Every shuffle of feet, every box placed on the floor, was a blow to my father’s ego.
Being forced to move his new family downstairs in front of the maids bruised his pride badly.
I could practically hear him silently cursing me in his head for putting him in such a spot.
Seeing that Dad wasn’t immediately caving, Erina lowered her gaze, wiping her tears with practiced delicacy.
“Dad,” she sniffled, “Sis can’t take her issues with the Anderson family out on us. We’re still a family, right? Isn’t she going too far? We’ve always been on the second floor. I’ve got nothing to do with Nicholas. But you…” She looked up at him with wide, wet eyes.
“You’re the head of the house. If word gets out that she’s bossing you around… won’t that hurt your image, too?”
Sure enough, her words hit the mark.
My father’s face turned even darker, the irritation rolling off him in waves.
He cared about his reputation more than anything.
I saw Erina shoot her mother a quick glance, a silent signal for Josefina to jump in and seal the deal.
But before Josefina could even open her mouth, I stepped fully into the room, a casual, dangerous smile on my face.
“If you think that’s bad,” I said, my voice light but biting, “do you want to see what I can really do?”
The room froze.
“Sis…” Erina’s face turned pale in seconds.
She shrank back, trying to hide behind my father like a scared bunny.
That lit a fire under my father instantly.
He pointed a shaking finger at me, snapping, “Abby! Is this how you show respect to your elders? Is this what your grandfather taught you?”
Before he could finish his lecture, I shot him a cold glare that shut him right up.
My eyes were like icy blades, and just like that, he lost all his heat.
I didn’t even spare him a second look.
I pulled out my phone, casually tapping out a reply to Lia as if he didn’t exist.
“You want to know what Grandpa really taught me?” I scoffed, not looking up from my screen.
“Why don’t you go ask him yourself?”
George went dead quiet.
The anger drained out of him, replaced by a hint of genuine fear.
In his rage, he’d forgotten that I was raised by Theodore Hayes himself.
And he knew, deep down, that if his complaints ever made it to the old man’s ears, he would be the one in serious trouble.