The question cracked the silence like a whip.
"And who is she?"
I turned toward the voice, and my stomach tightened. He was younger than Damian. He had the same storm-dark eyes, same bone structure—but with something sharper and unrefined. Damian was ice sculpted into steel; this one was fire, careless and reckless, flickering behind a lazy smirk that screamed trouble.
His gaze roved over me with the kind of arrogance that made my skin itch. Damian leaned back in his chair, utterly unfazed.
"She," he said evenly, his voice low but carrying across the table, "is my guest. For now."
Guest? That word stung more than I wanted to admit. A neat little box to shove me into, like I was some stranger staying at a... hotel, not the girl he'd—
The younger brother's laugh cut through my spiraling thoughts. "Guest?" His brows shot up in mock innocence. "That's new. You don't usually parade your—" he said, then paused and sized me up like I was some stack of rice or some piece of sh*t. Then he completed after I shifted uneasily in my seat. "—mistresses home for mother to chew on."
Mistress.
The word hit me like a slap, and the table erupted with soft murmurs, like everyone had been waiting for the insult to land.
I sat straighter, hands tightening in my lap. My pulse thundered, but my mouth refused to move.
Damian's gaze glanced, just once, toward his brother. It was sharp enough to silence the whispers, but his brother only leaned back and grinned like a devil who'd just lit the match.
"Tell me, Damian," he drawled, swirling the stem of his glass between his fingers. "Is she different? Or just another toy you'll get bored of in a week? Because, forgive me, I don't see what's so… captivating about this one." His eyes slid toward me again, bold, crude. "She looks like she'd break if you touched her too hard."
Heat shot up my neck. I wanted to scream at him, maybe even claw the smirk off his face, but my tongue felt like lead. Heavy? Definitely.
Damian's voice cut in, smooth and lethal. "That's enough."
"Is it?" the brother challenged, tone mocking. "Because I'm curious. The great Damian, finally bringing someone home, sitting her at this table like she belongs here. Doesn't add up. Unless…" He leaned forward, voice dropping. "Unless she's more than just a warm body. Did you finally catch feelings?"
The table gasped like he'd sworn in church.
Damian didn't even flinch, but rather his calm was terrifying, a blade sheathed but ready. "I said, enough."
His brother smirked wider, satisfied he'd stirred the pot. "Careful, Damian. You know what happens to men who let women in."
The silence that followed was suffocating. My chest rose and fell too quickly, my throat tight, as Damian's eyes lingered on his brother—sharp, cold, final.
Then he exhaled, almost lazily, and said the words with such force they silenced even the chandelier's hum:
"Enough."
The finality in his tone snapped the air in two. His brother sat back, still smirking, but the game was over—for now.
And me? I just sat there, pulse hammering, knowing I'd been dragged into a storm that had been brewing long before I even stepped into this house.
----------------------------
The silence after Damian's "enough" was a chokehold. No one even dared to breathe too loudly, as though one wrong sound would tip the room into chaos again.
Then, from the other side of the table, another voice broke in. It was rather smoother, older, but no less dangerous. Damian's other brother.
"Alright," he said as he lifted his glass like it was all just dinner conversation. "Let's stop clawing at each other. But Damian…" His gaze slid toward him, calm but probing. "Why bring her here? You could've booked a hotel if you wanted… more nights with her."
My entire body stiffened. More nights? Did he just—?
The corner of Damian's jaw ticked. It was basically the only sign of the tension he kept chained so tightly. "I said that's enough," he repeated, his voice was like steel. His stare pinned his brother, daring him to push further. "She's my guest. That's it."
The words should've made me feel better, should've given me something to hold onto. But instead, they twisted, sharp and ugly, in my chest.
Guest. Always just a guest.
My chair scraped against the polished floor as I rose, then my heart hammered against my ribs. "You know what?" My voice trembled, but I forced it out anyways. What left did I have to lose that wasn't already lost? "I'm going."
Gasps rippled through the table, and then chairs shifted as heads turned.
But before I could take a step away, Damian's mother's voice lanced the air, smooth and poisonous.
"Leaving already?" She set her wine glass down with deliberate grace, eyes narrowing into daggers. "How typical. No manners, no respect, no sense of place. You waltz into this house, sit at our table, and now you storm off at the first sign of discomfort? Tch." She shook her head slowly, like I was a child misbehaving in church. "Mannerless, through and through."
Heat flushed my cheeks, but it wasn't shame. It was fury. My nails dug crescents into my palms, and I bit back the words burning on my tongue.
Because one more insult, and I wasn't sure I could keep my mouth shut.
The air was sharp, heavy with unspoken tension, and that's where it ended—me standing there, every muscle taut, caught between running and exploding.
-------------------------------
The room went still after Damian's mother's barb, her words dripping like acid onto my skin. I could've stayed quiet—bit my tongue, smiled politely, pretended I didn't hear.
But the thing about venom? Swallow enough of it, and you either die or spit it back.
I straightened slowly, meeting her stare with a sweetness so sharp it could slice glass. "Mannerless, hmm? That's a new one. I must admit, though—your hospitality is truly one-of-a-kind. Inviting someone to your table just to shred them alive… how gracious of you, Mrs. De Rossi."
Her eyes narrowed, the first crack in her mask.
"And you," I turned to the younger brother—the one who'd called me a mistress. I let my smile tilt wickedly, voice laced with sugar and thorns. "You must be Damian's little parrot. Repeating words you don't even understand. Tell me, do you always open your mouth this wide at the dinner table, or was tonight a special performance?"
His face flushed, jaw tightening. "Watch yourself—"
"Oh, I am." I leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. "You're the one who should be careful. Throwing around words like 'mistress' when you can't even keep your own dirty assumptions to yourself? Tsk. Some men mistake curiosity for cleverness. Don't be one of them."
The older brother, still lounging with his glass, gave a low chuckle, like he was amused. But I turned on him next.
"And you," I said, tilting my head. "The one who thinks everything can be solved with a shrug and a hotel room. How refreshing. Truly. Tell me, is that your advice for every problem? 'Book a room, pretend it's not happening, sweep it under the rug'? No wonder you sound so relaxed—you've clearly never had to clean your own mess."
The glass paused halfway to his lips, his smirk faltering just enough to make my chest swell with wicked satisfaction.
Finally, I turned back to Damian's mother, the queen of venom herself. I softened my voice, almost sweet, but each word was sharpened to a dagger's point.
"As for you… I must say, you've mastered the art of disguise. Wrapping your insults in silk and pretending they're wisdom. It's impressive, really. But do you know what I see, Mrs. De Rossi?" I paused, letting the silence hang heavy, all their eyes locked on me. "I see a woman so desperate to control the people around her that she forgets one small detail: respect isn't commanded by cruelty. It's earned. And right now? You've earned nothing from me but pity."
The silence that followed was delicious. Damian's mother's face tightened, her sons exchanged glances, and for once, no one had a clever comeback.
I straightened my dress, smoothed invisible wrinkles, and smiled. "Thank you for the snack," I said lightly, as though I hadn't just thrown daggers across the table. "I suddenly lost my appetite."
With that, I rose, turned on my heel, and strode out of the dining hall. My footsteps echoed against the polished floors, steady, firm, carrying me all the way back to my room—where the door shut behind me like a final, resounding statement.
And for the first time since stepping into this mansion, I didn't feel like prey. I felt like—.