Inside, the warmth of the living room was starkly contrasted by the scene before her—several people were already seated on the sofa, chatting and watching TV.
As Abigail stepped into the warmth of the house, the snow on her coat began to melt, forming small puddles at her feet. Her frozen hands slowly regained feeling, tingling with the sensation of warmth.
She walked past the group on the sofa, her wet footsteps faintly audible against the floorboards. Just as she reached the stairs, Sebastian’s voice cut through the low hum of conversation.
“Abigail.”
He had never addressed her with such formality before. The weight of his tone made her stop in her tracks. She turned, a flicker of hope glimmering in her eyes—a hope she didn’t even realize she carried.
But his next words extinguished that fragile spark, plunging her back into the cold.
“There’s so much water on you. Don’t track it everywhere. Gabriella might slip. Go stand by the door and dry off before coming in.”
He never once looked at her. His gaze remained fixed elsewhere, concern only for Gabriella’s safety—not for Abigail, shivering in her soaked clothes.