Chapter 9: The Private Detective
I sat on the edge of my bed, deep in thought. If I was going to find a job, it had to be something that allowed me freedom—both physically and mentally. Something that wouldn't tie me down but would also give me access to certain places without question.
Then it hit me. A private detective.
It was perfect. It would let me move freely, investigate things at my own pace, and most importantly, stay away from the suffocating walls of this villa.
Just as I was mulling over the idea, the door burst open. Abigail stood there, her expression a mix of anger and desperation.
"Samuel, you are not allowed to take any job."
I raised an eyebrow, amused at her possessiveness. "Oh? And why is that?"
She took a step closer, arms folded tightly. "You have everything you need here. Am I not giving you enough? Money, a home—"
I cut her off with a chuckle, shaking my head. "It's not about what you're giving me or not, Abigail." I stood up and faced her, my gaze steady. "I'm already receiving more than enough depression from being caged here. I think I need some space."
Her eyes widened slightly at my words. "You—You make it sound like I'm imprisoning you."
I smirked. "Aren't you?"
She flinched but quickly masked it with irritation. "Samuel, don't be ridiculous. Why do you even want to work? You don't need to. You're my husband."