Silence settled in the hall, heavy and suffocating, even as Isadora did her best to concentrate only on the sound of her own breathing.

But her heartbeat thumped so loud in her chest that it drowned out everything else, and it only got worse when she heard Dante—the scrape of his fork, the quiet rhythm of his chewing—as he went back to eating his food like a dead woman wasn’t lying on the floor beside them.

Worse, it almost seemed like he looked more relaxed than before, as if her near-death and the maid’s collapse had taken some invisible weight off him.

Isadora stared silently at him, frozen, unable to touch her own food. She waited for him to finally ask the bodyguards to take the body away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he continued to eat slowly, his movements calm, deliberate. Isadora did nothing else but watch him, as though he were the most fascinating thing in the room.

Just when she expected him to keep ignoring her, he suddenly stopped eating. He set down his cutlery, wiped his mouth, and then spoke—his eyes locking onto hers. The intensity of it made her chest tighten as she tried not to outwardly flinch.

"You’re going to carry my child..." he began without hesitation, his words so blunt they made her mouth part slightly, no matter how she tried to hold it closed.

"It would be a bad investment on my part if I didn’t try to keep you alive. However, there’s only so much I can do!" His expression was cool, but his tone carried a severe finality that told her he wasn’t jesting.

"The wedding is next month, and to be honest... I’m not sure you’ll survive until then."

He spoke with such frightening frankness that Isadora’s insides twisted.

He said it like it was a fact, not a threat. Not an attempt to scare her—but a reality he had already accepted.

"This maid is simply the first. My family aren’t exactly excited at the idea of me being interested in any woman," he continued, leaning back into his chair, folding his hands together with an ease that didn’t match the gravity of his words.

Isadora tried to focus on what he said, but her gaze couldn’t help trailing over the cool, confident way he moved—like every gesture carried authority.

"Also! For public opinion, you can’t remain a nobody!" he continued.

The words made her perk up, even as she bristled inside, doing her best to ignore the mild insult buried in his statement.

"You need to become popular a bit. A famous actor, singer... something!" he said.

"Can you sing?" he asked.

Isadora shook her head instantly, vigorously, her throat tightening. She knew she sounded more like a dying bird than anything else whenever she tried to sing. The thought of being made to do it in front of others terrified her. Relief washed over her when he didn’t push further.

"Acting it is!" he finalized.

But Isadora didn’t stop shaking her head.

"I-I can’t act!" she blurted. I can’t act to save my life, she thought desperately, almost ready to offer an alternative.

But Dante cut in before she could.

"You’ll learn! You don’t have to be that good," he said firmly.

Isadora bit her lip hard enough to sting, drawing the faintest taste of blood, just to stop herself from blurting out the rest of what was on her mind.

I’m not super pretty either! Last I checked, that was important for women, she thought bitterly, aware of her short hair and features that never seemed to stand out.

But Dante was already standing. The way he rose from his chair made it clear—breakfast was over.

"Ca-can’t you speak to them?" Isadora suddenly blurted. "...Maybe if you explain and try to come to an agreement..." she continued.

Maybe they’ll stop trying to kill me! she thought, her chest tightening at the idea. Just how controlling are his parents if they won’t even give him a choice in who he wants to be with?

But before she could finish her plea aloud, his gaze pinned her sharply.

"...mhmm, do you think Tiberio would have listened if you tried to sit him down and have a conversation?" he asked.

The name struck her like a blow. She instantly sat straighter, her eyes falling back to her untouched food. She lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze as she heard him push his chair back and walk behind her.

"...Powerful people don’t compromise unless you force them," he said as he left, the words lingering in the air.

The door shut with a soft but echoing click, and the sound rang through the silence he left behind.

Isadora forced herself not to look as the bodyguards lifted the maid’s lifeless form and carried it away.

Servants entered quickly after, carrying buckets and cloths. Guila, the caretaker of the estate, followed calmly behind them. Her face remained expressionless even as her eyes passed over the small pool of blood on the floor. Not a flinch. Not a single sign of unease.

That frightened Isadora more than anything. It told her that this was not the first time such a thing had happened in this house.

What kind of thing have I gotten myself into? she mumbled under her breath as she pushed herself slowly to her feet, her body still trembling as the servants began their work.

"No need to get up, Ma’am," Guila told her, using a title Isadora disliked. "...The cleaning will be done in a minute!"

Isadora shook her head quickly, forcing a faint, wry smile.

How can I still eat? Only a psychopath would do such a thing!

"Can I have my food reheated and sent up to my room?" she asked, her appetite gone, certain she couldn’t take another bite if she stayed in this room.

Guila bowed her head slightly, her tone respectful as always—a fact that unsettled Isadora, considering the woman was clearly more than twice her age.

"I’ll have it sent to your room once it’s ready," she said.

Isadora nodded at once and turned, heading back toward her room.

But just as she reached the door, her hand hovering above the handle, she froze. Her fingers trembled in the air as a new realization struck her cold.

Who was to say the food that would be delivered wouldn’t be poisoned?

The thought made her blood run cold, and the silence around her felt heavier than ever.