Dahlia observed the array of fabric pieces meticulously spread out on her worktable, each carefully cut and arranged alongside vibrant sketches of her latest design she readied a while ago.
The soft glow of the candles cast a warm hue over the room, contrasting with the cool determination in Dahlia's eyes.
"Your Highness, it's growing late. Perhaps you should leave the sewing for tomorrow. Let me prepare the dinner table for you," suggested her attendant, concern evident in her voice as she glanced at the steadily fading light. "I doubt Prince Sullivan will return tonight."
"I'm not waiting for him. Just give me ten minutes, and then I'll go for dinner," Dahlia asserted firmly, her slender fingers deftly threading needles through the richly textured fabric.
In the real world, Dahlia was not from a wealthy family and was an aspiring Fashion Designer. Despite lacking the capital, she used the power of social media to showcase her creations to a global audience.
After coming here, Dahlia was so engrossed in the affairs related to her crush, who was her husband now, that she hardly got the time to start it.
Nylie sensed her mistress's unease after Sullivan's harsh treatment. She sighed softly, waiting for Dahlia's work to finish soon. Suddenly, a sharp knock on the door shattered the silence. Both women turned to see Sullivan standing in the doorway.
Dahlia's eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and resignation. She lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, "Tell him not to disturb me."
Sullivan's expression remained cold as he stepped into the room. "Don't you wish to eat? I've heard you haven't had your dinner," he muttered, his tone devoid of warmth.
Dahlia remained quiet, her gaze fixed on the fabric in her hand, refusing to engage with him.
Sullivan's thin patience broke and he walked to the table around which Dahlia was seated. Slamming his hand on the table he said, "Don't starve yourself. Everyone will blame me then that I'm the reason behind it."
Dahlia still ignored his presence and kept embroidering the design she had in her mind. As she inserted and pulled out the needle from, Sullivan interrupted her by grabbing her wrist to stop her from working. However, it wasn't a wise action.
"Ahh!" Dahlia let out a low cry when the needle pricked the skin on her index finger. Instantly, the blood oozed out of it.
Sullivan's reflexes acted swiftly that he pressed his lips on the tip of her index finger. Dahlia's eyes grew big to see that and she immediately pulled away her hand. Their eyes locked for a few seconds.
Sullivan stood straight and continued, "Come to the dining hall. I don't want to hear any excuse."
"I don't wish to dine with you anymore," Dahlia replied.
"Why? Are you already getting annoyed?" His tone was laced with disdain as he taunted her.
"Yes. Go away," Dahlia retorted.
Sullivan chuckled darkly and yanked her to her feet. She protested, trying to wrench her hand free, but his grip was too tight. He dragged her out of the room and toward the dining room. Nylie hurried after them, concern etched on her face, determined to ensure Dahlia's safety.
Sullivan shoved Dahlia into a chair, pushing it forward with a forceful shove. She tried to rise, but Sullivan leaned down, his hands gripping the edges of the dining table, trapping her in place. His breath brushed against her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine.
"Don't make me mad," he warned, his voice low and menacing. "I'm still treating you better than you ever treated me. So, eat quietly, and then go to bed."
Sullivan stood straight and sat across from her. He gazed at Nylie, telling her to bring the Sullivan straightened up and took a seat across from her. His gaze shifted to Nylie, who stood anxiously nearby. "Bring the meals," he commanded. Nylie bowed quickly and hurried off to fulfill his order.
Dahlia, left in the tense silence, fiddled with her fingers, her mind racing. How could she explain to Sullivan that she truly had no memories of the original soul of this body? All she knew was that Dahlia was the Crown Princess, destined to become the future queen. The novel had only mentioned a few things about her.
Sullivan's expression softened slightly as he recalled Galen's advice. His voice, when he spoke, was noticeably gentler than before. "You told me I could use you as much as I wanted. When I did, you became upset. You called yourself my admirer, but later, you tarnished my image," he remarked, his tone accusatory yet curious.
Dahlia met his gaze, her eyes earnest. "I don't remember anything from before. So, don't trouble me for what happened in the past. When I woke up and came to the wedding hall, all I remembered was that I loved you," she proclaimed.
Sullivan's eyes narrowed slightly. Her explanation shed light on her strange behavior, but it also posed a troubling question for him. "What if your memories return? You won't hesitate to stab me to death," Sullivan stated, his eyes boring into hers, searching for any hint of deceit.
"Umm... I-I... Why would I do that? You always thinks wrong of me? What if my past self tried to protect you from the others? Perhaps, I said those harsh words to you so that others won't beat you," Dahlia stated.
Sullivan chuckled at her words. "You are funny. You say such things so easily. Your actions have made me suffer. But now, you don't even remember what you've done. I can't even hold you accountable."
His gaze shifted to the door as two servants entered with Nylie, carrying trays laden with food. They set the dinner table swiftly and left, closing the doors behind them, leaving Sullivan and Dahlia in an intimate, albeit tense, setting.
"Sullivan, trust me, I never thought badly of you. I've never fallen for any man before. I've always loved you and always will," Dahlia proclaimed, her voice filled with conviction. She then turned her attention to the food, starting to eat in an attempt to quell her nerves.