Comfort in Chaos

Fragile

Ed sat on the couch, his gaze fixed on Abigail as she murmured softly in her sleep. She was sprawled across his guest bed, her dark hair fanned out over the pillow, her expression peaceful yet vulnerable. Her cheeks were still flushed from the wine, and her lips moved faintly, though the words she mumbled were incoherent.

Her phone, which had been buzzing relentlessly, lay on the coffee table. Ed had silenced it after the fifth call, worried it might wake her up. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair.

He had never seen Abigail like this—unguarded, fragile, and so unlike the confident, sharp-tongued woman he had come to know. It stirred something deep in him, a strange mix of protectiveness and frustration.

"Why does she let herself get this way?" he thought, shaking his head. He knew the answer, of course. People dealt with pain in their own ways. He wasn't angry—more worried than anything else.

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The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft streaks of light across the room. Abigail stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings, her brows furrowing as she sat up slowly.

The room was simple but cozy, with warm-toned walls and a few framed photos on the nightstand. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool hardwood floor. Her head throbbed lightly, and her throat was dry.

Where am I? she wondered.

The faint aroma of tomatoes and spices wafted through the air, making her stomach growl. Following the scent, she padded toward the kitchen, her curiosity piqued.

She stopped in the doorway, startled by the sight of Ed standing at the stove. He was dressed casually in a fitted gray t-shirt and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy, as if he'd been up for hours. He stirred a pot on the stove, humming quietly to himself.

"You're awake," Ed said without turning around, his voice calm but laced with amusement.

Abigail blinked, her cheeks flushing. "Ed? What… what am I doing here?"

He turned, a wooden spoon in hand, his expression unreadable. "You don't remember?"

She shook her head slowly, her brows knitting together. "The last thing I remember is…" Her voice trailed off as fragmented memories of the hotel came rushing back. "Oh no," she murmured, her face paling.

Ed smirked, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, 'oh no' is right."

Abigail crossed her arms, her embarrassment mounting. "What happened? How did I end up here?"

"I picked you up from the hotel," Ed replied matter-of-factly, returning to the stove. "You were drunk. Really drunk."

Abigail's mouth fell open slightly. "I wasn't that drunk."

"You couldn't even walk straight," Ed countered, pouring the stew into a serving bowl. "And let's not forget your low alcohol tolerance." He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, Abigail, who gets drunk off two glasses of wine?"

Abigail bit her lip, suppressing a smile despite her embarrassment. "Well… wine is strong," she muttered defensively.

"Sure it is," Ed said, his tone teasing as he set the bowl on the counter. "Sit. Breakfast is ready."

Abigail hesitated but complied, taking a seat at the small dining table. Ed placed a plate in front of her—steaming white rice and tomato stew, garnished with fresh herbs. The aroma was heavenly, and her stomach growled audibly.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, her voice soft.

Ed sat across from her, his expression gentler now. "You're welcome. But seriously, Abigail, take it easy on the drinking next time, okay?"

She nodded sheepishly, digging into her food. The first bite was enough to make her eyes widen. "This is amazing," she said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of rice.

Ed chuckled. "Glad you like it."

As they ate, Ed's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen and frowned. It was a message from the private investigator:

"Thomas Marc and Abigail have no significant ties, but Gia Vicker is the youngest daughter of Helen Vicker."

Ed's brows furrowed, but he decided to address one thing at a time. "Abigail," he began cautiously, "what's your relationship with Thomas?"

Abigail blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Thomas? We're just friends. Why?"

Ed nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "No reason. Just curious."

As if on cue, Abigail's phone buzzed from her bag. She grabbed it, her eyes narrowing as she read the message. It was from Thomas.

"Last night was humiliating. You really know how to embarrass someone, don't you?"

Abigail's heart sank. She excused herself and called him, pacing the room as the line connected.

"Thomas, what's wrong?" she asked nervously.

"Your possessive boyfriend is what's wrong," Thomas snapped. "Did he take good care of you after crashing our night?"

Abigail frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," Thomas said bitterly. "You called him your boyfriend in front of me, remember?"

Her face turned crimson as the memory resurfaced. "I… I was drunk. I didn't mean it," she stammered. "I don't even remember saying that."

"Of course you don't," Thomas said coldly. "You were too busy letting him swoop in like some kind of knight in shining armor."

Before she could respond, Thomas hung up. Abigail tried calling him back, but the line went straight to voicemail.

She sighed heavily, her cheeks still burning as she returned to the dining table.

"What happened?" Ed asked, watching her closely.

Abigail hesitated before sitting down, her hands clasped tightly. "Thomas… he's upset about last night. Apparently, I said something I shouldn't have."

Ed's gaze softened. "What did you say?"

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I told him you were my boyfriend."

Ed froze for a moment before a chuckle escaped him. "Well, that explains a lot."

Abigail glared at him, though there was no real malice in her eyes. "It's not funny, Ed. He's furious."

"Maybe it's for the best," Ed said casually. "If he can't handle you having someone in your corner, maybe he's not as 'friendly' as you think."

Abigail sighed, pushing her chair back. "I need to clear my head." She grabbed her purse and headed for the door, pausing to glance back at Ed. "Thank you again… for everything."

"Anytime," Ed replied, his voice calm but earnest.

As the door closed behind her, he leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with questions. Thomas, Gia, Helen Vicker—there were too many pieces to this puzzle, and he was determined to fit them together.

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