She snatched her purse off the couch and strode toward the restroom.

Sylvia offered an apologetic smile, taking the fresh towel from the waitress. She glanced earnestly at Yves. "Mr. Hanson, I'll go check on Mrs. Hanson. You two keep talking."

Yves gave her a chilly nod, barely feigning interest in his own wife.

Sylvia headed for the restroom.

Restroom.

As soon as Mrs. Hanson saw Sylvia, she dropped the edge of her skirt she'd just been lifting.

"What are you doing here? Useless girl. Wait till you marry into this family-you'll see how things really are."

Sylvia clutched the towel, voice soft. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hanson. Maybe you should step into a stall and dry off a bit?"

The spill had landed in an awkward spot. If she didn't dry it, her underwear would be soaked through—uncomfortable, to say the least.

Mrs. Hanson clearly didn't want anyone seeing her, so the privacy of a stall was the best option.

But she hesitated.

Sylvia hurried on, "You can just hand me your skirt through the door. I'll dry it with the hand dryer. It won't take long."

submissive posture. "At least you know your place.

Mrs. Hanson slipped into a stall and passed


to focus on drying the skirt, but her gaze flicked to the slowly closing stall

it clicked shut, she grabbed the hand dryer with one hand and, with the other, unzipped

find a stash of medication right on

for bruises and swelling,

snapped a few quick photos. At the bottom of the bag, she found Mrs. Hanson's

have to think twice about the password-it was the same as Yves's. Not surprising, really. Mrs. Hanson always seemed to watch

that had no

That was easy. Anyone who'd seen the

photo album was squeaky clean-clearly

the chat history with Kay was

up, her brow

to Kay

shen. In


conversation's never pushed back, not even

in the same league as the

Garcias, but Mrs.

this submissive

raced as she

and quickly snapped

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