The dinner began with an unsettling calm. Demure and Lars were seated, Isabelle at the head of the table, her lips curled into a smirk as though she had already won. The dishes arrived in fine procession, silver trays gleaming under candlelight. Carmine entered with a pie in her hands, setting it gently upon the table. Isabelle's eyes narrowed, fury flashing as she glanced at Demure, who shifted casually in his chair, trying to mask unease.
Carmine's voice cut through the silence, deceptively light. "Well, what's that, Master Demure? When did you get that injury?"
The question struck like a blade. Demure froze, his smirk faltering, fear flickering in his eyes. Colden turned sharply, his own thoughts racing. He too had wondered about the wound, but Carmine's boldness made the suspicion impossible to ignore.
The dinner pressed on, tension mounting. Then Glinda appeared at Carmine's side, her tone urgent. "Come with me to the refrigerator." Carmine hesitated, but was dragged away. Isabelle's smirk deepened — this was her plan. With Carmine gone, Colden was left exposed.
The brothers leaned in, their voices sharp, their eyes predatory. "Your answer, Colden. We want it now."
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his palms slick as water. The pressure was unbearable, their stares suffocating. Isabelle's voice joined theirs, smooth and commanding. "Say yes."
Colden's lips parted, his voice trembling on the edge of surrender.
The doors burst open. Carmine stormed in, her voice ringing like thunder. "COLDEN! MARCO'S MISSING!"
The room fell into stunned silence. Isabelle's smirk vanished, Demure and Lars stiffened, and Colden's heart lurched. The demand for his answer dissolved into chaos, replaced by a new terror.
Marco was gone.
To be continued…