“Annabelle.”
Samuel’s voice was deep, steady — deceptively calm, but laced with authority. He stepped forward, shrugging off his coat and draping it over her trembling shoulders. The warmth of the fabric contrasted cruelly with the icy chaos around them.
“You’re hurt,” he muttered, fingers brushing lightly against her scraped knuckles. His jaw tightened as his cold gaze sliced toward Abigail. “What the hell is this?!”
Abigail froze for a second, then quickly recovered, flipping her curls back with a dramatic sigh. “Dad, seriously? You’re believing her?” Her voice pitched higher, sugar laced with venom. “She was asking for it. Throwing herself around like she owns the place, trying to steal Richard right under my nose. I was just—”
“Enough.” Samuel’s voice cracked like a whip. His eyes
