Annabelle stepped into the room, her eyes landing on Richard—seated as usual behind his oversized desk—and Marc standing to his right like a loyal second-in-command.
Strangely enough, she felt a flicker of relief seeing Marc there. Facing Richard Barton alone was like walking into a lion's den blindfolded.
So he really was waiting for me? That means he told the guards to block me from leaving on purpose? Seriously, what now?
The thought made her blood boil again. She clenched her jaw and marched forward.
"Mr. Barton, what's the meaning of this?" she snapped, voice firm but not loud. "Why weren't the guards letting me leave? I know damn well it was your order, so why don't you cut the act and explain? What exactly are you trying to pull?"
Marc flinched internally. That tone. Again. He
