Back inside the room where Abigail was with Roman…
"What a darling wife you have," Abigail murmured, her lips curling into a slow, poisonous smirk.
Her ear was pressed against the thick wooden door, listening with quiet amusement to the fading sound of footsteps outside.
The faint echo of Julie's voice from the hall made her grin widen. "Your wife is really stupid," she whispered, a sharp laugh slipping from her throat.
"I can't believe she still follows you around like a lost puppy—such a handsome man like you, and she really thinks she can keep you all to herself."
She turned away from the door and sauntered toward the bed where Roman lay, unconscious.
The once-powerful man now lay motionless, his broad frame limp against the sheets she had carefully arranged beneath him.
His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his expression—usually composed and intimidating—was now slack, unguarded.
