Flash Marriage To My Fake Disabled Husband

She sucked in huge gulps of the smoggy Brooklyn air, desperate to flush the scent of cedar and black pepper from her lungs. Her hands were trembling. Liam hurried around to the trunk, wrestli

his depressing squalor. Acacia dropped her canvas duffel bag onto the sofa. Without a word, she walked into the tiny kitchen, grabbed a sponge, and began violently scrubbing the grease off the countertops. Donovan watched her from the wheelchair, his eyes narrowing. The spoiled Dillon heiress was scrubbing grime without a pair of gloves. Acacia opened the pantry. She pulled out three packets of expired ramen noodles and tossed them into the trash can with a loud thud. She turned to face Donovan, her expression devoid of pity. "I need a job. Today." Donovan raised an eyebrow, testing her. "Why don't you just go back to the Dillon estate? Beg your mother for an allowance. Surely they wouldn't let you starve." Acacia's eyes turned into chips of ice. "I have no family. That house is dead to me." She grabbed her faded trench coat from the sofa. She needed cash immediately. The trust fund was gone, and her parole officer monitored her bank accounts. Donovan reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn credit card. "Take this. It has a five-hundred-dollar limit. It's all the credit I have left. Buy some groceries." Acacia stared at the plastic card. She looked at his motionless legs under the blanket. "I don't spend a cripple's money," she said coldly. She slammed the apartment door behind her. The moment the latch clicked shut, Donovan's posture completely changed. He stood up from the wheelchair, his full height dominating the small room. He walked to the dirty window, watching Acacia's figure march down the street. He pulled out his encrypted satellite phone. "Liam. Dig deeper into Acacia Dillon's prison record. I want to know exactly what happened to her in that black-site facility. She's too sharp. Too hard." Down on the street, Acacia's