Love Unspoken

The audacious declarations, dreams, and aspirations Abigail once held for her future now mocked her like a cruel jest. She rapped gently on the door.

"Dad," she called out. Mr. Vanderbilt glanced up at her, unable to mask the fatigue etched into his features, tinged with a hint of disappointment.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

"Shouldn't you be in your room? What do you need?" he asked."I'm willing to accept an arranged marriage," Abigail declared.Mr. Vanderbilt blinked, taken aback, staring at her as if he had misheard. "What did you say?" he questioned. She paused, her voice slightly hoarse, "An arranged marriage is the only solution to the Vanderbilt family's current predicament and the key to saving our stocks."He opened his mouth, his expression unreadable.

Once, he had pressured Abigail to marry, hoping to secure a stable, tranquil future for her. Yet, she had spoken to him of ideals, of life's purpose, of poetry, and of distant shores. Now, her offer to enter into an arranged marriage, though unexpected, was not what he desired.

He had never contemplated exchanging his daughter's happiness for financial gain."When will you stop this nonsense? Go back to your room!" he insisted. But Abigail remained steadfast. "I'm not being reckless.

This is the most expedient solution to our crisis. Please agree, Dad."Mr. Vanderbilt slammed the object he was holding onto the desk, stood up abruptly, and roared, "How many times must I tell you? Go back! I may have my faults, but I won't trade my daughter's happiness!"Arranged marriages, once about family alliances, had become negotiations and transactions.

How could Abigail find happiness in such a union?Observing her father's uncontrollable fury, Abigail felt not the usual triumph but a dull, indescribable pain.It was only now that she understood she had misinterpreted her father's intentions. Her dreams of flight had been clipped by the harsh reality, and the gales of truth had shattered her wings.

Retreating to her bedroom, Abigail was greeted by a flurry of messages on her cellphone, most of which she ignored. With just one percent battery remaining, she stared at the phone lying on her bed.In the final moments before it powered down, a call from Quinn came through. A lingering silence filled the air as Abigail picked up the phone and held it to her ear.

But Quinn couldn't utter word. The line was shrouded in silence.Abigail, too, remained silent. The call ended in this quiet stillness.Staring at the ended call, Quinn's eyelashes fluttered. She opened WhatsApp, fearful of missing any message from Abigail.Outside, the rain whispered its secrets, and a chill permeated the room.Quinn wrapped her hands around the phone.

The darkness deepened during the long wait.A knock at the door startled Quinn, causing her to turn her head and listen more intently. It wasn't the doorbell, but indeed, a knock. Rising to answer it, she saw the man outside and instinctively began to close the door.

The man moved swiftly, his casual demeanor belying his quick reflexes. His hand caught the doorframe just as Quinn attempted to close it. "Don't freak out, Quinn. Mom sent me to pick you up."He was undeniably handsome. Yes, he was handsome.

Yet his masculine features were distinct.Quinn struggled to describe his appearance. His features were as if divinely crafted, each perfect in its own right, yet part of a harmonious whole. Freya had once described him as a dashing gentleman possessing a certain old-world elegance.

He stood before her, an insincere smile playing on his lips. His hair was long enough to tie back, lending him a distinctive look. The man was Walter, Freya's husband.