~Abigail's POV~
I don't know what's happening to me.
I keep telling myself it's okay. He doesn't mean any harm to you. He only wants what he wants. You just have to be his wife for a year, and it's easy. In return, you get protection. You get everything you ever wanted.
But a tiny, stubborn voice in my head keeps whispering that it's all fake. It's all a performance. A lie. A fake.
Darius and I walk into the lounge hand in hand. He squeezes my thumb at every step like it's a talisman, and I force my fingers to relax around his. The room is hushed, men in suits at the corners who definitely look armed, and Taro is at the bar, backlit by the low lights, a bartender hovering tensely nearby.
He looks up as we enter, one brow lifting, then chuckles. "Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Rassais." He lifts his glass and motions us over, taking the seat like he owns the place.
