The guest room smelled faintly of antiseptic and roses. Abigail sat primly on the edge of the bed, lips pushed out in a pout while a young maid dabbed ointment across her scraped hand. She hissed and winced dramatically, milking every touch for sympathy.
The door burst open.
Britney stormed in, heels hammering the floor like gunfire. Her face was thunder. Without a word, her palm cracked across Abigail’s cheek. The slap echoed off the walls.
Abigail gasped, clutching her face. “Britney—!”
“You i***t!” Britney’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “Instead of driving Annabelle out, you hand her Richard’s sympathy on a silver platter? Are you completely brainless?”
“I—” Abigail stammered, eyes darting to the maid who immediately ducked out, leaving them alone.
Britney loomed over her,
