CHAPTER 262: CHAPTER 262

At that moment, upon hearing what Abigail just said, her father’s head snapped toward her, his eyes wide with a mix of anger and sheer panic. His voice rose sharply, trembling but firm, "What are you doing?!" he barked, his words echoing through the room. "Keep your mouth shut and don’t say any more words!" His whole body was tense, his tone dripping with desperation.

He pointed a shaking finger at her, his breath coming faster, as though each word he spoke was dragged out of a chest heavy with dread. "You don’t actually know who you’re talking to," he shouted again, almost pleading now. "Do you want to put this entire family into more problems than the ones we already found ourselves in?"

The room fell into a heavy silence after his outburst, broken only by the sound of his uneven breathing. His knees pressed against the floor, his palms trembling as they rested against his thighs. Abigail had never seen her father like this—reduced, begging, stripped of the authority he always carried like a second skin.

However, hearing what her father just said, Abigail still couldn’t believe her ears. Her lips parted slightly, her mind struggling to process what was happening. The man she had always known to be commanding, proud, and unshakable was kneeling in front of a stranger, begging as though his very life depended on it. It made no sense. The sight shook her to her core.

Her gaze shifted from her father’s trembling form to Oliver, who stood tall, calm, and composed, his presence alone pressing down on the room like a weight. Oliver’s silence made him even more intimidating. He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t threatened in front of her, yet the terror radiating from her father’s every word told her everything she needed to know—this man was dangerous.

Abigail’s chest tightened. She clenched her fists at her sides, anger and confusion boiling inside her. She had never come across this person before, never even seen his face until now, yet her father was acting like he was staring into the eyes of death itself. The fear in his voice, the terror in his eyes it was all too much.

Finally, she then say to her father, her voice trembling but firm, "What is going on, Dad? Please... explain this to me. What is actually happening? Who is he?"

At that moment, the atmosphere in the room grew even more tense. Abigail’s father, already pale and trembling, barked at her with a ferocity she had never seen before. His words cut sharply: "Didn’t you hear me? Leave this place immediately! This does not concern you. Keep your mouth shut before you drag us into deeper trouble!"

For Abigail, those words felt like a slap. Her father had never raised his voice at her like this, never once treated her with such desperation. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes flickered in disbelief. If he was this terrified, then whatever was happening here was far beyond her comprehension. The fear in his tone told her everything this wasn’t just a simple misunderstanding.

Trying to steady herself, she stammered, "Mom has to hear about this. She has to know what’s going on here. I’m going to call her right now she needs to see what’s happening with her own eyes." Her fingers gripped her phone tightly as she prepared to dial, but before she could even move a step, a calm but commanding voice cut through the tension.

Oliver, who had been sitting with a cold, steady presence, lifted his gaze toward Abigail. His words were slow, deliberate, but laced with authority: "Stop right there, Abigail." His tone froze her in place, as if the ground itself had turned to stone beneath her feet. "You think I came here for your father? No. He is nothing but a side note in this story. I came here for you."

The words hung heavy in the room. Abigail’s phone slipped slightly in her grasp as her chest tightened.

Oliver leaned back, his eyes never leaving her, his voice carrying a weight that made her father’s earlier anger seem insignificant. "Do you think I planned this meeting? No. I stumbled upon him here your father, the man who wronged mine, the man who left wounds in my family that never healed. He is nothing more than a wound I happened to find reopened." He gestured dismissively toward her father, who was still trembling on his knees. "But you, Abigail..." His voice hardened, his eyes narrowing with precision, "...you are the reason I came. And with you standing here, with your father revealed for the man he truly is, everything has aligned perfectly. Everything you’ve done, everything you are it all ties together now."

The air felt suffocating. Abigail’s father bowed his head even lower, afraid to breathe too loudly. Abigail herself felt her legs weaken as she stared at Oliver, unable to look away.

And then, with an unsettling calm, Oliver finished, "So stand where you are, Abigail. Do not move. Because whether you like it or not, today is about you."

At that moment, the desperation in Abigail’s father grew stronger than ever. His body trembled as sweat dripped down his temples. With a shaky breath, he lowered his forehead against Oliver’s feet, the cold marble floor pressing against his cheek. His voice broke as he pleaded, "Please... if you have even a shadow of doubt, punish me instead. I am the one who must pay. I am sorry so very sorry. Don’t hold her sins against her. Let me bear it all."

His arms stretched forward, palms flat on the floor as though he were clinging to the ground for mercy. He pressed himself down further, almost as if he wished the floor would swallow him whole. His words came out in rushed sobs, "Whatever Abigail has done, I accept the punishment. Whatever happened in the past, I will carry it on my shoulders. Please, Oliver... spare her. Destroy me if you must, but leave her out of this."

The room grew heavy with silence. The only sound was his broken voice echoing against the walls. Abigail, frozen near the doorway, felt her chest tighten as she watched her father collapse into something she had never seen before fragile, humiliated, and utterly powerless. She had always known him as a man of pride, a man who could never be shaken. But here he was, flattened against the floor, begging another man for mercy.

Oliver stood tall, his gaze unmoving, his presence cold as steel. His silence pressed down like a weight, and it was worse than anger. The father dared to glance upward briefly, only to quickly bow his head again, as if looking too long at Oliver’s face would invite wrath. His body shook with each word as he whispered again, "I beg you... punish me instead. Please... I will take it all."