Sorry guys but I will be dropping only one chapter tonight because Im not feeling fine, I hope you can all understand.
As soon as the maids replaced Isla's food with what Vivian and the others were eating, the rich aroma of the delicacies hit her senses like a tidal wave. It was intoxicating. The blend of spices, the slow-cooked perfection of the meat, the softness of the freshly baked bread, it was a meal fit for royalty. Isla's stomach clenched in protest, a deep hunger gnawing at her insides. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to maintain composure, but the temptation was unbearable.
She clenched her fists beneath the table, determined not to show weakness. Isla had spent years perfecting the image of an elegant lady—one who was above material desires, who acted as if wealth and status meant nothing to her.
It was the persona she had carefully crafted in front of her suitors, a facade that made them believe she sought love over luxury. She had endured lavish dates in the most opulent restaurants, rejecting exotic dishes with feigned indifference, all to maintain the illusion of a woman who did not chase riches while she watched them shower her with expensive gifts.
But this… this was different.
The meal before her was beyond anything she had ever tasted, beyond the finest cuisine her suitors had ever offered. The hunger twisting her gut made her want to throw away all etiquette, to reach out, grab the food with her bare hands, and stuff it into her mouth until she was satisfied.
But she couldn't.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her fork, forcing herself to move with grace and restraint. Just as she was about to take her first bite, a voice sliced through the air like a dagger.
"Lady Isla, I'm sorry to say, but how can you be so ungrateful?"
The mocking voice belonged to Anna, who was no other than Vivian's most loyal lady in waiting.
"Not only did my mistress have the kindness to change your meal, but she even granted you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to eat food prepared by the imperial chef. Even those deemed worthy have yet to receive such a privilege. And yet, you couldn't even offer my mistress a word of gratitude? How disgraceful."
A hush fell over the dining hall. Isla froze, her grip on the cutlery tightening until her knuckles turned white. Her face paled, then flushed red with both anger and humiliation. She could feel the weight of the maids' judgmental stares, their disdain seeping into her skin like poison.
She raised her gaze, looking straight at Anna, her eyes burning with fury. How dare she? Isla was no beggar. She would rather starve than lower herself to thank Vivian, the woman who was her sworn enemy, over something as trivial as food.
Her gaze shifted toward the Duke, hoping—perhaps foolishly—that he would say something, that he would at least acknowledge the cruelty being inflicted upon her. But, just like the previous night, he remained utterly indifferent.
He didn't even glance in her direction. Instead, he continued eating with serene elegance, as though the humiliation unfolding beside him was of no concern to him.
Once he finished, he picked up a napkin and dabbed the corners of his lips with meticulous care. A servant approached, presenting a bowl of scented water for him to wash his hands. He moved with such refinement, such grace, that it only deepened Isla's anger.
"Vivian, you should let me know once you are done," he said, his voice smooth and impassive. He spoke as if Isla didn't even exist, as if she were no more than a shadow in the room.
Isla's nails dug into her palm.
"I'm also done with my breakfast. Just give me a minute," Vivian replied, washing and drying her hands with equal elegance.
Then something happened that made even Vivian pause in surprise.
Leonard stood up and walked to her side, extending his hand toward her—a silent invitation.
A murmur spread among the maids, their faces lighting up with delight. It was rare—unheard of, even—for the Duke to voluntarily escort Vivian, not even at grand events. Vivian hesitated only for a moment before slipping her hand into his, allowing him to lead her out of the dining hall.
The sight of them together, so perfect in appearance, sent a sharp pang through Isla's chest. The maids, clearly enthralled by the moment, beamed with joy, their admiration for their master and mistress unmistakable. Yet, their delight was also layered with malice, an unspoken message directed at Isla: You don't belong here. You never did.
Anna, drinking in Isla's seething expression, smiled in satisfaction. With a falsely sweet tone, she added one final insult before leaving.
"Enjoy your meal, Lady Isla. And since you can't even thank my mistress for today's generosity, I'll be sure to remind her not to be so kind-hearted next time. We wouldn't want certain people to start assuming they actually deserve it."
Each word was like a blade slicing into Isla's pride.
The laughter and hushed whispers of the maids followed them as they exited, leaving Isla alone in the vast dining hall.
She stared at the retreating figures, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her fury barely contained. She wanted to scream, to overturn the table, to shatter the perfect image they had all painted of Vivian and Leonard. Instead, she forced herself to remain still, swallowing back the rage that threatened to consume her.
Just then, a voice whispered in her ear, low and sinister, dripping with temptation.
"Don't let them get to you… Soon, they will all be under you."
A shiver ran down Isla's spine. The words were like dark honey, sweet yet laced with something dangerous.
Her grip on the fork loosened, and a slow, calculated smile began to curl on her lips.
They thought they had won.
They thought they had humiliated her, broken her spirit.
But they had only fueled the fire.
And soon… they would regret it.