Chapter 140 The Unsettling Encounter
Carson couldn’t sleep that night. The image of Anabelle at the event stayed with him—her laughter, her poise, her calm confidence.
It was all he could think about. When he closed his eyes, he saw her smiling. When he opened them, he saw the emptiness of the room beside him, Bridget fast asleep, unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.
He turned on his side, staring at the ceiling. “Why now?” he muttered under his breath. “Why her?”
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds, but it brought no peace.
At breakfast, Bridget chatted about a new client and a dress fitting, her words blending into noise. Carson nodded absentmindedly, his spoon barely touching the plate.
“Are you listening?” she asked sharply.
“Yes, of course,” he said, forcing a smile.
She frowned. “You’ve been somewhere else since last night. What’s going on?”
“Work,” he said quickly. “Just work.”
She stared at him for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she let it go. “You should focus on tonight’s meeting then,” she said. “You’ll need to be sharp.”
He nodded. “I will.”
But when evening came, he wasn’t thinking about work.
The corporate mixer was hosted at a hotel downtown, filled with executives, clients, and familiar faces. And among them, Anabelle.
He hadn’t planned to see her again—not really—but the moment he walked through the glass doors and saw her standing near the bar, calm and radiant, everything inside him shifted.
She wore a pale blue dress, her hair falling softly over her shoulders, her expression composed yet warm as she spoke to a small group. Her laughter floated gently across the room.
Carson’s heart thudded painfully.
“Carson, over here,” Bridget called, tugging on his arm. “We should greet Mr. Lewis.”
He nodded, though his eyes lingered. “In a minute,” he said.
Bridget followed his gaze and froze. “Is that… her?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer.
Bridget’s tone hardened. “You have to be kidding me.”
“Bridget,” he said softly, “it’s just a coincidence.”
“Then keep it that way,” she said, her voice tight. “Don’t make a scene.”
But he couldn’t stop himself. His feet moved before his mind caught up.
He crossed the room, weaving through the crowd, pretending to greet a few acquaintances along the way.
Every step closer to Anabelle made his pulse quicken. She turned slightly, and for a moment, he almost lost his nerve.
Then she saw him.
Her smile faltered, just a little. The laughter in her eyes dimmed, replaced by calm composure. She didn’t turn away. She didn’t look surprised. She simply waited.
“Anabelle,” he said quietly as he reached her.
“Carson,” she replied, her tone even, polite.
“It’s been a while,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “It has.”
He searched her face, looking for warmth, for anything familiar. “You look… well,” he said finally.
“I am,” she said. “Thank you.”
Her posture was straight, her chin slightly lifted, her voice smooth. She didn’t tremble.
She didn’t glance away. It was as if he was just another name on her guest list, someone she’d met in passing.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, forcing a small laugh.
“I was invited,” she said. “Work event.”
“Right,” he said, nodding. “I heard you started your own firm.”
She smiled faintly. “Yes. It’s going well.”
“That’s… good,” he said, his voice low.
“Thank you,” she said.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. The sounds of the party faded into a dull hum.
“You seem… different,” he said.
“I am,” she said simply. “Time changes people.”
He swallowed hard. “You’ve changed for the better.”
“I had to,” she said softly, but there was no bitterness in her tone. Only the truth.
He wanted to say more—to apologize, to explain—but the look in her eyes stopped him. They were calm, clear, and distant. She had moved on, and he knew it.
Bridget’s voice broke the silence. “Carson,” she said from behind him. Her tone was cool, her eyes sharp. “I thought we were meeting Mr. Lewis.”
Anabelle turned to her, smiling politely. “Good evening, Bridget.”
“Anabelle,” Bridget said, forcing a smile. “It’s been… ages.”
“Yes,” Anabelle said. “You look well.”
“Thank you,” Bridget said. Her hand slipped possessively into Carson’s arm. “We should be going, darling.”
Carson didn’t move. His eyes were still on Anabelle. “Maybe later,” he said quietly.
Anabelle took a step back, her smile unwavering. “It was nice seeing you both,” she said.
Carson’s lips parted as if to speak, but she was already turning away. Her hand reached for a glass from the waiter’s tray, her laughter returning as she joined another group.
It was as if their conversation had never happened.
Bridget’s grip tightened on his arm. “You’re pathetic,” she hissed under her breath.
He looked down. “Don’t start, Bridget.”
“Oh, I’ll start,” she said, her voice cold. “You’re standing here drooling over your ex like a fool. Do you know how that looks?”
He sighed. “It’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think,” she snapped. “She’s glowing, and you can’t handle it.”
He said nothing. He couldn’t.
Bridget stepped closer, her tone low but fierce. “You made your choice, Carson. Don’t forget that.”
She turned sharply and walked away, heels clicking against the marble floor.
Carson stayed where he was, watching Anabelle from a distance again.
She was laughing now, her hand brushing her hair aside as she spoke to someone from across the table. The sight twisted something deep inside him.
He remembered the way she used to look at him—with warmth, with trust, with love. But that look was gone now. Replaced by something steadier, untouchable.
He exhaled slowly and rubbed the back of his neck. “What did I do?” he whispered to himself.
Across the room, Bridget stood by the bar, watching him through narrowed eyes. Her chest rose and fell with quiet anger.
The jealousy was sharp and bitter, curling like smoke inside her. She had seen the way he looked at Anabelle—the soft regret in his eyes, the longing he couldn’t hide.
She lifted her drink and took a slow sip, her gaze never leaving him. “Not again,” she murmured.
Anabelle didn’t notice any of it. She stayed surrounded by conversation, her laughter easy, her presence calm.
But beneath the calmness, her heart beat a little faster. Seeing Carson again had been strange—like looking at an old photograph she no longer belonged in.
When the evening ended, she stepped outside into the cool night air, taking a deep breath. She didn’t look back.
Inside, Carson watched her leave through the glass door, his reflection faintly overlapping hers.
Two lives—once intertwined—now separated by a thin wall of time and regret.
And this time, he didn’t follow.