Brennan's fingers tightened on her collar, his knuckles turning white. His eyes were like blades, scraping over her blood-stained face, searching for any crack in her mask.

Isolde choked, a painful cough tearing from her restricted throat. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, sliding down her grimy cheek, and dropped onto the back of Brennan's hand.

He recoiled as if burned. He dropped her instantly, wiping his hand on his pants with a look of utter disgust. "What kind of sick game are you playing now?" he spat, taking a step back.

Isolde crashed back onto the stone floor. The impact wrenched the wound on the back of her head, sending a fresh wave of agony through her skull. She curled into a ball, clutching her head, whimpering softly. The pain was real, and so was the cold. She didn't need to fake the trembling.

Cameron stepped forward. He crouched down, his long, cold fingers gripping her chin, forcing her face up to meet his gaze.

Isolde had no choice but to look into those deep, scrutinizing eyes. She buried her fear deep down, letting only bewilderment show on her face.

Cameron's thumb pressed against the side of her neck, right over her carotid artery. He could feel her pulse racing like a trapped bird. One hard squeeze, and he could crush her windpipe.

Feeling that lethal pressure, Isolde's body trembled uncontrollably. "Why..." she stammered, her voice shaking. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Cameron stared into her eyes for ten long seconds. He was looking for the malice, the cruelty that always lived there. He found nothing. Just emptiness.

A faint sound came from outside-the soft rustle of scales sliding against stone. A damp, chilling presence crept into the room.

Dangelo Oconnor stood in the doorway, his tall, lean frame blocking out the gray light. He cast a lazy, indifferent glance at Isolde crumpled on the floor, a smirk playing on his lips.

He walked in slowly, his voice dripping with venomous mockery. "I can't believe you two are falling for this pathetic act."

Isolde's mind raced. Dangelo. The snake beastman. The one who hated the original the most, and the most unpredictable of them all.

Dangelo stopped in front of her. He looked down at her like she was dirt. Then, without warning, he lifted his heavy military boot and slammed it down onto the back of her hand, the one she was using to prop herself up.

Pain exploded up her arm. Isolde screamed, tears instantly blurring her vision. She tried to pull her hand back, but Dangelo ground his heel down, crushing her fingers against the rough stone.

He leaned down, his eyes cold and predatory. "If you've really lost your memory," he whispered, "I'd be happy to help squeeze the water out of your brain."

If this were the original Isolde, she would have cursed him out and activated the mate contract to burn him from the inside out. But Isolde bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. She only cried. She didn't fight back.

She used her other hand to weakly push against his boot, a futile gesture. She looked like a girl who had never thrown a punch in her life.

Dangelo frowned. The expected hysterical cursing didn't come. The woman under his foot was as fragile as a dried leaf, crumbling under the slightest pressure.

Cameron spoke up, his voice flat. "Let her go, Dangelo. If she dies now, we're all suspects."

Dangelo scoffed. He lifted his foot, stepping away as if he had just stepped in something filthy.

Isolde immediately cradled her injured hand to her chest. The skin was broken, red and swelling. She scrambled back into the corner, watching the three men with wide, terrified eyes.

[Trust levels remain negative. Lethal intent slightly decreased. ] The system chimed in her head.

Cameron stood up. He pulled a ragged piece of rough cloth from his coat and threw it at Isolde's face. "Wipe your face," he ordered coldly. "Stop trying to look pathetic."

Isolde grabbed the cloth. She scrubbed at her face, the rough fabric stinging her cuts, but she didn't make a sound.

Brennan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "What now, Cameron? Are we really keeping this psycho? She's probably faking the whole thing."

Cameron didn't answer right away. He stared at Isolde, huddled in the corner. "If she's lost her memory," he said slowly, "we call the village healer. We get it verified."

Dangelo's eyes narrowed. He understood immediately. If the healer confirmed her brain was mush, they could legally apply for an annulment of the marriage contract.

Isolde kept her head down. Under the cover of her bloody, tangled hair, a cold smile touched her lips. Delay. That was all she needed.

Cameron turned and walked out into the snow to fetch the healer, leaving Isolde alone with the other two, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the howling wind outside. Isolde clutched the rough cloth, her eyes darting between the two men left in the room.

She noticed Brennan's arm. A deep, ugly gash ran across his bicep, the skin torn and ragged. Dark red blood was still seeping from it. It looked like a wound from a barbed whip, left to fester.

Her gaze shifted to Dangelo. The scales on his neck were a mottled, bruised purple. It was the aftermath of the original Isolde forcefully draining his energy.

To solidify her "amnesiac and kind" persona, Isolde pointed a trembling finger at Brennan's arm. "Your arm," she whispered, her voice small and fearful. "How... how did that happen?"

Brennan turned his head, his eyes blazing. "Are you mocking me?" he snarled. "You think playing the saint now will make me forget?"

Isolde shrank back, her eyes welling up with tears again. "I just... it looks like it hurts," she mumbled defensively. "I was worried."

Dangelo let out a sharp laugh. He crossed his arms, looking at her like she was a clown. "He walked into a thorn bush," Dangelo said, his tone mocking. "Clumsy, isn't he?"

It was the most ridiculous lie Isolde had ever heard. That wound was clearly from a whip. Even a child could see that.

But Isolde nodded slowly, her expression morphing into one of sudden understanding, mixed with a naive sympathy. "Oh," she breathed. "You should be more careful next time."

Dangelo's smirk vanished. He stared at her as if she had grown a second head. Was she really that stupid?

Brennan looked even more agitated. He started pacing the room, clearly unsettled by her wide-eyed, foolish gaze. It was like punching a pillow-no resistance, just frustrating softness.

Isolde felt a wave of dizziness hit her. The blood loss and the cold were taking their toll. Her vision blurred, and she slumped against the freezing wall.

"I'm thirsty," she whispered, looking up at Dangelo, who was standing closest to her. "Can I have some water?"

Dangelo stared down at her. He didn't move. "Why would a noble lady like you drink the dirty water from this wasteland?" he sneered.

Isolde didn't get angry. She just looked at him, her eyes misty and pleading. There was no command in her gaze, only a raw, desperate dependence.

Something in that look made Dangelo's heart skip a beat. He frowned, annoyed by his own reaction, and quickly looked away.

[Trust level for Dangelo Oconnor: -99 (Increased by 1). ] The system beeped.

Dangelo cursed under his breath. "Troublesome woman," he muttered. He walked over to a cracked clay pot in the corner that they used to collect melted snow and picked up a wooden bowl with a chipped rim. He scooped out some freezing snow water and brought it back, shoving it roughly toward her. Water splashed over the rim, soaking her already freezing clothes.

Isolde took the bowl with her uninjured, trembling hand. She didn't flinch at the cold or the dirty bowl. "Thank you," she said softly.

The words hung in the air like a bomb. Brennan stopped pacing. Dangelo's hand, which had just let go of the bowl, stiffened.

In their memories, the original Isolde never said "thank you." She only took, demanded, and cursed.

Isolde lowered her head and drank. The icy water slid down her throat, making her cough slightly, but it felt like life returning to her frozen body.

While drinking, she scanned the room. There was nothing here. A broken bed, a clay pot, and a crude stone hearth filled with cold ashes. The windows were just holes stuffed with rags. The roof was leaking snow. This place was a death trap.

She finished the water and carefully set the bowl down. She looked up at Dangelo again, offering a weak, grateful smile. "You're a good person."

Dangelo's face turned an interesting shade of purple. He stepped back like she had the plague. "Don't think this changes anything," he warned, his voice tight.

The sound of footsteps outside broke the tense moment. The door swung open, and Cameron walked in, bringing a blast of cold air with him. Behind him stood an elderly beastman draped in a gray cloak, with curled ram horns protruding from his head. The village healer, Heath Mason.

Heath shook the snow from his cloak and walked over to Isolde. His cloudy eyes held a flicker of undisguised disgust. He didn't like this tyrant either.

Cameron gave a brief explanation. "She fell and hit her head. She woke up and doesn't seem to recognize anyone."

Heath nodded. His bony fingers pressed against Isolde's wrist. A faint green energy seeped from his fingertips into her body.

Isolde panicked internally. "System! Hide my soul signature and the magic I just awakened!" she screamed in her mind.

[Acknowledged. Generating interference barrier. ]

The system quickly threw up a chaotic mess of energy on the surface of her consciousness, mimicking the disruption of a severe brain injury.

Heath's brow furrowed deeper. He pulled his hand back and moved to inspect the gruesome wound at the back of her head.

The three men in the room held their breath.

Heath turned around and sighed. "Her brain has suffered devastating trauma," he announced. "Her mental sea is a chaotic mess. She has indeed lost her memories."

Brennan let out a long breath, his eyes shining with undisguised joy. Cameron's jaw relaxed slightly. Dangelo chuckled, clearly pleased with the diagnosis.

Heath left a small pouch of herbs and added, "With this level of damage, unless she receives a significant shock, she may never recover."

After the healer left, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The three men looked at Isolde differently now. They weren't looking at a threat; they were looking at prey that had walked right into a trap.

Cameron walked over to the rickety table. He pulled out three yellowed pieces of parchment from his coat and laid them out neatly.

He turned to Isolde, his tone deceptively gentle but hard as steel underneath. "Since you've lost your memory, there are some legal matters we need to attend to."

Brennan stepped forward and shoved a quill dipped in red ink into Isolde's uninjured hand.

Dangelo explained coldly, "These are annulment agreements. You sign them, press your blood seal, and we are strangers. We owe you nothing."

Isolde looked at the dense text on the parchment. The system instantly translated it for her. It wasn't just an annulment. It was a complete forfeiture of her title as lord and all her property. She would be left with nothing.

[Warning! Signing the annulment will result in mission failure and immediate host termination. You will not survive the night without their protection. ]

Isolde's fingers tightened around the quill until her knuckles turned white. She couldn't sign.

She looked up, tears instantly filling her eyes. She stared at them with absolute terror and abandonment.

"Are you... my husbands?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Why do you want to throw me away? What did I do wrong?"

Brennan was struck dumb. He couldn't exactly list her crimes to a woman who didn't remember them.

Cameron tried to stay rational. "We have no feelings for each other," he stated flatly. "Ending the contract is best for everyone."

Isolde threw the quill away. She covered her face with her hands and broke down into loud, heaving sobs. She cried like someone who had just realized the world was a nightmare.

"I don't remember anything!" she wailed between breaths. "It's cold here! It's awful! If you kick me out, the beasts outside will eat me!"

This absolute surrender to vulnerability left the three beastmen completely at a loss. They knew how to fight violence with violence, but they didn't know how to handle a sobbing, helpless woman.

Isolde peeked through her fingers. Seeing their hesitation, she pushed harder. "Please," she begged, her voice raw. "Give me a little time. Don't abandon me now."

She held up three bloody fingers, trembling. "Three months," she pleaded. "If you still hate me after three months, I won't fight it. I'll sign."

The room fell silent. The men exchanged glances. Their plan to force her signature had just hit a wall of tears.