Chapter 139 A Glimpse Through the Glass
The ballroom shimmered with light, chandeliers sparkling like frozen stars overhead.
Glasses clinked, laughter mingled with soft music, and the murmur of conversation created a warm, bustling hum.
Anabelle moved through it all with ease, a glass of sparkling water in her hand, her dress hugging her frame in a way that made her feel elegant yet entirely herself.
“Anabelle, over here!” a colleague called, waving from across the room.
She smiled and approached, nodding politely to others as she passed.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice calm and measured, carrying confidence she hadn’t felt in years.
“You look amazing,” her colleague said, offering a small bow.
“Thank you,” she replied, laughing softly. “It’s been a busy few weeks, but I’m finally starting to feel settled.”
As she spoke, she noticed the subtle nods, the way people leaned slightly toward her when she spoke, the attention she drew without trying.
She felt a quiet thrill—this was the Anabelle she had been working toward, the one who didn’t need anyone else to define her worth.
Fred’s words echoed in her mind, though she didn’t realize it: “You always do.”
She mingled, shaking hands, exchanging small talk, and even sharing a few professional insights that earned her nods of respect.
Her laughter rang freely, genuine and unforced, and she felt the subtle warmth of accomplishment inside her chest.
Then, across the room, something caught her attention. She didn’t recognize him at first—he was with a woman, and yet the posture, the familiar expression, even the way he held his drink—it all drew a spark of recognition.
Carson.
He stood slightly apart, speaking softly to Bridget, but his gaze found her almost immediately.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and something shifted in the room, though neither moved.
Carson’s brow furrowed slightly, and a tight line pressed his lips together as he watched her laugh at something someone said.
He could see her fully, and it struck him harder than he expected.
She was radiant, her confidence magnetic, her presence commanding attention not because of her beauty alone but because of the way she carried herself.
Bridget leaned closer, whispering in his ear, but he barely heard her. “Carson, are you listening?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on Anabelle.
He remembered the nights she had cried, the mornings she had forced herself to smile, the silent way she had suffered, and the way he had walked away.
The sight of her thriving, of being completely herself, hit him like a physical blow.
Anabelle, meanwhile, had no idea he was there. She laughed, gesturing animatedly as she spoke to a small group of clients, telling a story with vivid hands and eyes that sparkled with life.
She was thriving, yes, but in a way that didn’t need anyone else to validate it. She felt strong, capable, and… free.
Carson’s chest tightened.
He watched as she turned slightly, adjusting her hair, her eyes catching the light in a way that made her glow. She looked different—more sure of herself, more alive.
Every step she took seemed intentional, every word carefully measured but effortless, and every smile genuine.
Bridget noticed the change in his expression. “You okay?” she asked.
Carson swallowed hard. “I’m… fine,” he said again, though his voice betrayed him.
Anabelle excused herself from the group she had been with and walked toward the refreshment table.
As she passed, Carson’s eyes followed her, unwilling and unable to look away.
He wanted to approach, to speak, to say something, anything—but something held him back.
She didn’t glance his way. She didn’t need to.
Carson felt the pang of regret, sharp and cold. He had thought he made the right choice with Bridget, but seeing Anabelle like this made the emptiness of his current life undeniable.
Every smile she gave, every laugh, every light in her eyes—it reminded him of what he had lost.
Anabelle poured herself a glass of water and turned, scanning the room. She almost caught sight of him, but a waiter passed between them, obscuring the brief moment.
She didn’t recognize him, didn’t feel the ghost of the past brush against her. She simply enjoyed the evening, the conversations, the freedom.
Carson’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t move forward. He couldn’t cross the room. Something held him back—shame, fear, the weight of what he had done.
He knew that if he approached, it might stir emotions he couldn’t control, it might shatter the fragile peace she had built, and worst of all, it might not even matter to her anymore.
Bridget leaned closer, her hand on his arm. “You’re staring again,” she said softly.
“I… I’m just… observing,” he said, his voice tight.
“Observing what?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Carson didn’t answer. He didn’t want to. He watched Anabelle laugh at a joke, sip her water, and glance at someone across the room with warmth in her eyes.
She was alive. She was thriving. And she was untouchable to him now, a reality he could not change.
Anabelle moved past a cluster of people, her heels clicking lightly on the floor.
Carson caught the glimpse of the elegant curve of her neck, the soft swing of her hair. For a moment, he imagined calling out, but the words died in his throat.
He realized then that he had no right to interrupt this version of her life. The
Anabelle he knew was gone, replaced by someone stronger, someone vibrant. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone who had walked away.
Anabelle paused near a large glass panel that overlooked the city skyline. The light reflected in her eyes, and she tilted her head slightly, thinking, not speaking.
Carson could see her through the glass, a perfect, fleeting moment, and he knew he had to leave it at that—a glimpse through the glass, nothing more.
Bridget touched his arm lightly. “Shall we go?”
He nodded, still fixed on Anabelle for a heartbeat longer before turning away. As they walked toward the exit, he felt the weight of what he had lost, the emptiness of his own choices pressing down on him.
Anabelle, unaware, finished her drink and moved back into the crowd.
She laughed again at a comment, shaking her head, and felt the thrill of independence running through her like electricity.
She didn’t know Carson had been there. She didn’t know he had seen her at her brightest. And perhaps that was how it should be.
Sometimes, glimpses through the glass were enough.