~Abigail's POV ~
As soon as I step out of the tub, wrapped in a bathrobe and towel-drying my hair, I freeze.
Anastasia is sitting at the edge of the bed with my phone in her hand.
For a second, I'm too stunned to speak. Then the shock melts into pure rage. I storm toward her, snatching my phone out of her grip. She looks up at me, her eyes wide like I've lost my mind.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?"
She stands up, crossing her arms. "You must be a fake. A spy, maybe. Because tell me, why on earth would Darius suddenly marry you? That man is a bloody psychopath and a raging workaholic. And you—" her eyes rake over me, "you're ordinary. A mere lawyer. He's paying you, isn't he? Paying you to play wife."
Before I can react, she grabs my wrist, squeezing hard.
Her tone softens, but her words only sting more. "He did pay you, didn't he? Poor thing. He must've threatened you, too. Don't worry, I can get you out of here, Abigail."
