THE COLD RECEPTION

I felt my face grow hot; words caught in my throat. But before I could respond, Edward stepped forward, a calm expression on his face.

"Mark, this is Abigail Walker," he said, his tone firm yet gentle. "She's here to help us, not to marry me."

I held back the urge to respond, waiting to see if Edward could cool some of the tension with his explanation. But Mark's eyes stayed locked on me, full of suspicion, his eyes narrowing, then he sized me up. There was a sceptical, guarded look there, a wall he'd already thrown up between us, and I realized that, to him, I was already a threat.

Part of me wanted to roll my eyes or tell him off—anything to show I wasn't some money-grabbing fool. But now wasn't the time to let my temper take over.

Edward motioned to Mark, gesturing down the hallway. "Let's talk privately, son." Then he turned to me, nodding. "Abigail, feel free to freshen up. We'll be ready shortly."