The Uber tires crunched against the pristine gravel of the Mosley estate in the Hamptons.
Darla stepped out of the car. Her stomach churned with nausea, but she forced her shoulders back. She walked up the sweeping marble steps and pushed open the massive front doors.
In the sunken living room, Agnes was sipping champagne. Rudy was pacing, and Caren was lounging on a white sofa, filing her nails.
Agnes looked up. Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Go upstairs and put on the red Valentino dress. Arthur Vance will be here for dinner at seven."
Darla didn't say a word. She walked straight to the glass coffee table.
She unzipped her bag, pulled out the thick, legally binding marriage certificate, and slammed it down onto the glass.
The sound cracked like a whip in the quiet room.
Agnes frowned. She set her champagne flute down and picked up the paper. Her eyes scanned the text. The color instantly drained from her face.
Rudy snatched the paper from his mother's hands. "Anson? Who the hell is Anson?"
Caren dropped her nail file, her eyes widening in shock. "Wait. Is that the security guard from last night? You actually married that broke loser?" Caren burst into a shrill, mocking laugh.
Agnes's face turned a mottled, furious red. She lunged forward, raising her hand to strike Darla. "You stupid, ruined little bitch!"
Darla didn't flinch. She shot her hand out and caught Agnes's wrist mid-air. Her grip was iron-tight.
"Don't ever touch me again," Darla said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "I am a married woman. You are no longer my legal guardian. You have no right to my trust fund, and you have no right to tell me what to do."
She shoved Agnes's hand away.
Rudy stepped forward, "I'll make sure that security guard never works in this state again. He'll be begging on the streets."
"Try it," Darla challenged, her eyes burning with defiance.
She turned her back on them and walked out the front doors.
The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind her, the adrenaline vanished. Her knees shook. A wave of exhaustion hit her so hard she almost stumbled.
She started walking down the long, tree-lined driveway, pulling out her phone to call another Uber.
Before she could unlock the screen, a massive, pitch-black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided silently up the driveway and stopped right beside her.
The rear door popped open.
Anson stepped out. He was still wearing the cheap blue shirt and jeans, looking completely out of place against the multi-million dollar vehicle.
Darla's jaw dropped. She stared at the car, then at Anson. "What... what is this?"
Anson walked up to her and smoothly took her heavy tote bag from her shoulder.
"My boss lives out here," Anson lied without missing a beat. "I had to drop off some sensitive documents for him. He let me borrow one of his cars for the trip back to the city."
In the driver's seat, Isaac gripped the steering wheel, biting his tongue so hard he tasted copper.
Anson wrapped a heavy, warm arm around Darla's shoulders. "Picking up my wife is part of the job description."
The word wife sent a hot shiver straight down Darla's spine. She was too exhausted to question the insane coincidence.
She let Anson guide her into the back of the Phantom. The plush leather swallowed her tired body. Anson slid in next to her, his large frame taking up most of the space.
The Rolls-Royce pulled away from the estate, leaving the toxic Mosley family far behind.
