Not One, But Two!

Chapter 211

The scalpel stopped an inch away from Greg's wrist, the light bouncing off the tip of its blade reflected in his dark

eyes, bringing out the bright amusement in his gaze.

Abigail could not bear to hurt him in the end, which made her furious as she kept the scalpel with a grim look on her

face. "Go away!" she snapped. Was he so ready to have his nerves mutilated by me? I could have rendered his

hands useless if I had not stopped myself in time. Sure, I could always mend the nerves after they were cut, but his

hands would never be able to function like before.

The thought of how close she had come to damaging the nerves in his hand made her shudder, but he had already

known that she would not hurt him. Exasperated and embarrassed, she shoved her elbow against his stomach.

Caught off-guard, he let out a low grunt at the sudden impact and quickly released her from his embrace.

"Serves you right," Abigail mumbled as she headed into the kitchen.

There were still some leftovers on the table. She glanced at the food, but she had yet to take a bite of them when

Greg suddenly walked in and offered, "You haven't eaten, have you? Go wait in the living room while I whip up

something for you." Then, he put on an apron and began washing the tomatoes, which had been left on the sink

counter.

Abigail crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame as she asked, "Where the hell's your pride, Greg?

You're the president of Buckley Group, and seeing you in the kitchen behaving like a maid gives me the creeps."

He countered nonchalantly, "I don't see how this is creepy. I'm just trying to be a good househusband here, which

means I'll have to learn how to serve my mistress well, or she won't give me my allowance." The words came out of

him so naturally that one might believe he was only commenting on the weather instead of disregarding his honor

entirely.

Unable to stand this obliging side of him, Abigail frowned and said, "You're one of the Four Young Masters of

Harrion; you could at least have a little respect for yourself."

"Respect isn't going to sustain me or put food on the table, and I can't exactly marry respect, can I? I've made up

my mind that as long as my future wife sticks around, I could abandon all sense of respect and grovel at your feet,"

he declared.

"Yeah, no, I don't think I'd want someone as big as you groveling at my feet," she pointed out with a grimace.

Not wanting to carry on this meaningless banter with him, she sauntered into the living room and curled up on the

couch. She rubbed her temple tiredly to soothe the onset of a migraine, feeling drained after her confrontation with

Valerie. It had been a long day.

When Greg saw how exhausted Abigail looked, he couldn't help feeling a little guilty. He did not ask her for the

children's whereabouts, trusting that she had already made the best arrangements for them. Right now, he

planned to stick to her like glue no matter how annoying she found him because he knew that if he were to allow

her the space she asked for, then everything would be over between them.

He didn't know how he was supposed to do damage control after what his mother had done other than swallow his

pride and cling to Abigail. Nevertheless, the fact that she tolerated his presence here now was a good sign.

A smile curled on his lips as the thought crossed his mind. He sliced the produce and heated olive oil in a pan, then

dumped in the greens for a quick stir-fry. Before long, he was done with the dish.

Meanwhile, Abigail felt her stomach twist with the familiar ache of gastritis, but she had left her medicine at home.

She breathed through the pain, reminding herself that she usually pulled through just fine the last few times and

that it was only a bout of mild discomfort.

More importantly, she could not show Greg she was in pain, or she would have difficulty putting up a tough facade

in front of him. She knew that he and Valerie were two separate entities. Still, her anger toward the latter was

directed at the former as well by virtue of their mother-son relationship, so she had no intention of speaking to him

right now.

She leaned back further into the couch, and her mouth watered when she smelled the aroma of food wafting out of

the kitchen.

Greg had whipped up pasta and stir-fried greens, and he gave Abigail a large helping of them.

Presently, she felt like someone was gutting her, and she could hardly wait to put some food in her stomach.

Nonetheless, she was just about to dig in when Greg stopped her by putting his hand on hers.

"What?" she hissed impatiently, grouchy from the pain.

He took in her waxy complexion, and the beads of cold sweat on her forehead, then took out a packet of pills from

his pocket. He shook two out of the packet and put them in her hands, at which point she realized that the drugs

were for her gastritis. "Sit tight while I get you a glass of water to chase down those pills. Then, we'll dig into the

meal. You can't just fill your stomach up with food and expect your gastritis to clear up within seconds, you know,"

he said quietly as he rose out of his seat to fetch her a glass of water.

Abigail froze. When did he start carrying these pills around? She stared at the tiny pills in her hand as emotions

rose. What does he want from me? He should know by now that his mother thinks he's way out of my league. Going

on like this will only force him to pick sides and suffer the brunt of his choice, and what good will that do?

She did not wait for him to return with the water and elected to chew the pills instead. She winced at the intense

bitterness that filled her mouth, but she did not think it was much harder to swallow these pills than it was to cope

with her heartache.

By the time Greg returned with the glass of water, she was nearly done with her food. He frowned, said nothing,

and merely sat and watched her eat silently.

She admitted that she was a little self-conscious and thought she deserved a pat on the back for being able to wolf

down food despite the tense circumstances. Within moments, she devoured the entire plate of pasta, spared half

the greens, then set her utensils down as she made to leave.

"Where are you going? I'll drop you off."

"No, thanks. I'm going home," she answered coldly as she turned to walk out of the house.

Unaffected by her rejection, Greg left the house as well and got into his car, then tailed her from behind. She

frowned in frustration when she glanced into the rearview mirror and saw him following her, so she pulled up to the

side of the road and got out of her car. She walked up to the driver's side of his vehicle and rapped her knuckles

against the window.

"Yes?" he asked innocently after rolling down the window.

"What will it take for you to stop following me? With the way things have turned out, you can't possibly expect me to

turn a blind eye to them," she said tiredly. "I know I'm being unfair to you right now, Greg, but the person who

forced me into doing this is none other than your mom. So, I can't just brush this off with a laugh."

She had been boiling with rage the entire time and kept it in check, but she could see that tolerance would not work

out well for either of them now that he had decided to stick to her like chewing gum on the bottom of a shoe. She

had to draw the line somewhere.

He eyed her steadily and said, "I'm not asking you to brush it off."

"Then why don't you just piss off and stop showing up in front of me?" she snapped.

"No can do," he answered solemnly. "You won't want me anymore if I leave you alone. Abigail, whatever my mom

did has nothing to do with me, and I've already made up my mind to marry you. If you refuse to marry into my

family, then I'll just have to marry into yours and take on your last name. How about that? I just want to be with

you, and if that means I have to give up my fortune and become a househusband, then so be it!"

She wasn't sure what she could say to that, and her urge to punch him waned when she saw how serious he looked

even while he spun all these cheesy, borderline-melodramatic lines. They shot through her heart like arrows and

brought unwanted sentiments to the surface, which irritated her to no end.

"Crazy idiot," she muttered in resignation, though it was unsure if she was referring to herself or Greg. She returned

to her car and sped off.

Greg, on the other hand, frowned as he quickly followed her from behind.

However, when they both pulled up in front of Kain Residence, he was shocked. He didn't think that the 'home'

Abigail had mentioned would be this one, though to call this place her home would be a far, far stretch. So what is

she doing here, really?

Questions and possibilities filled his mind, but he did not get out of the car to follow her. He had only followed her

because he was terrified that she would break up with him after Valerie's shenanigans. Granted, she did say that

they needed space to cool off on their own, but as things were, he was almost certain that the cooling-off period

would only lead up to an official break-up, and he could not handle that.

He never imagined himself falling so deeply for a woman that he would abandon every shred of his pride just to be

with her. Besides, they were parents to two daughters, and just the idea that his girls would call some other man

'daddy' was enough to rile him up.

And so he clung to Abigail regardless of how pathetic he looked. He would pay any price to keep her from wanting

to break up with him, but he would not interfere with her personal affairs or any of her decisions as long as they did

not involve leaving him.

Abigail honestly thought Greg would follow her into the house. When she got out of her car, she even stopped to

cast him a sideways glance, only to see him rolling down his car window before killing the engine. Then, he lit a

cigarette and propped his arm against the edge of the window while he smoked, looking devilishly handsome.

She paused at the sight, then shook herself out of her reverie as she walked up to the house.

Emma was stunned to see that Abigail had returned, but when she thought about the girl's current status and her

relationship with Greg, she drawled sourly, "What are you doing back here?"

"Where's Philip?" Abigail did not want to waste her breath on Emma and decided to be straightforward with her

questions.

"You're just going to address Dad by his given name now?" Emma demanded incredulously, her voice sharp and

accusing. "Show him some respect!"

"I'm going to ask you again: where is Philip?" Abigail bit out icily. She was already grouchy, to begin with, and to

encounter a moron like Emma who constantly tested her patience only aggravated her temper. She grew grim at

once, and any fool could sense danger radiating from her.

Emma was stumped by the murderous look in Abigail's eyes, and she took a wary step back as she warned, "What

are you going to do? You'd better watch yourself if you don't want me to call the police on you!"

Seeing that she wouldn't be getting any answer from Emma, Abigail brushed past her and marched straight for

Philip's study.

"Hey, you can't go in there! Dad's study is off-limits at all times!" Emma shrieked, stopping her.

Abigail raised a brow and asked, "Is that so? Then why did he personally invite me to go in there the last time?

Pretty sure the off-limits thing applies only to a selected few."

Upon hearing this, Emma grew immensely jealous, not to mention wounded at the memory of her father's double

standards. After the day Abigail entered the study, Emma tried to follow suit and enter on her own accord, only to

be chased out by Philip with a series of scoldings. The experience still haunted her even now.

Judging by the look on Emma's face, Abigail could guess what was on her mind. She scoffed, shoved the latter

aside, threw the study door open, and walked in purposefully.

The study still looked the same as it had the last time she was here. Abigail looked around, but that was when she

noticed something out of place.

An inkstone on the bookshelf looked distinctly at odds with the rest of the room.

She walked up to it and tried to take down the inkstone, but the moment she touched it, the shelf parted down the

middle and opened up like a set of doors. A secret passage! Or maybe an underground chamber?

Abigail's eyes narrowed as she remembered what Quinn had told her about the poison. She swiftly walked into the

passageway and used the camera on her phone to record what it looked like inside.