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.

Brennan was the first to break the silence. He sneered, "Even without your memory, you're still cunning. Three months is plenty of time for you to scheme something nasty."

Dangelo twirled the discarded quill between his fingers, his eyes dark. "We have no obligation to play house with a crazy woman," he added coldly.

Isolde knew words weren't enough. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Using every ounce of strength left in her battered body, she pushed herself up from the floor. Her legs refused to fully support her, forcing her to heavily drop to her knees beside the table. She dragged her upper body up, leaning most of her weight against the rotting wood. Before they could stop her, she picked up the quill. But she didn't sign the parchment.

Under their shocked gazes, Isolde raised her right hand and drove the sharp, metal end of the quill hard across the pad of her thumb, slicing a deep, jagged line through the flesh.

Blood welled up instantly. Isolde gasped but didn't scream. She pressed her bleeding palm hard against her own chest, over her heart.

She looked up, her eyes clearer and more resolute than they had ever been. "I swear to the Beast God," she declared, her voice ringing with a raw intensity, "by my soul and my life. If, after three months, you three still wish to annul the contract, I, Isolde Perry, will sign without condition. I will exile myself to the wasteland. If I break this oath, let my soul be devoured by beasts, never to find peace."

As the words left her lips, a faint golden light flickered across the ceiling. The Law of the Beast God had acknowledged the vow.

The three men froze. In this world, no one dared make a false oath to the Beast God. It was a curse worse than death.

Brennan's mouth hung open. He stared at the blood dripping from her palm, a flicker of something complex in his eyes. Dangelo's mocking smile was gone, replaced by a deep frown.

Cameron stared at her for a long moment. Then, he stepped forward and swept the three parchments off the table, tucking them back into his coat.

"Since you've sworn to the Beast God," Cameron said, his voice low, "we will give you three months. But don't expect any care from us."

Isolde's tense muscles finally went slack. She had won the gamble.

But the moment the adrenaline faded, the reality of her injuries crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her vision went black. Her body went limp, collapsing forward like a puppet with cut strings.

Cameron, standing right in front of her, instinctively reached out. His arms caught her falling body, pulling her against his chest.

Isolde's head rested against him. She could smell a faint, bitter scent of herbs on his clothes.

Dangelo and Brennan didn't move to help. They just watched.

Cameron frowned, looking down at the woman in his arms. She was as light as a piece of paper, her face as pale as a ghost. A strange, uncomfortable feeling twisted in his gut.

He carried her to the broken wooden bed and laid her down gently. As he pulled his arm back, his gaze landed on the bloody mat of hair at the back of her head. He remembered the moment, just hours ago, when he had shoved her.

He leaned in close. His eyes traced the gruesome, bloody mat of hair, and for a fleeting second, the cold scholar's mask slipped. He looked at her pale face, and a sudden, uncharacteristic wave of hesitation washed over him. He had pushed her on purpose. It was a calculated move to rid them of a monster. Yet, seeing her broken like this, he questioned his own descent into the very cruelty he despised.

Isolde, hovering on the edge of consciousness, felt the tense, complicated silence radiating from him. Her heart clenched in fear. But she forced herself to keep her breathing steady, playing dead.

Cameron lingered for a moment, making peace with his own guilt. He had been a scholar once, not a killer.

He straightened up and turned to the others. "She's lost too much blood. If she dies before the three months are up, we'll be charged with murder. Get some food."

Brennan cursed under his breath and stormed out into the snow. Dangelo just snorted and walked to the far corner of the room, closing his eyes.

The room fell quiet. Isolde lay in the dark, her mind racing. The heavy, suffocating silence of Cameron's lingering gaze still chilled her to the bone. This three-month battle for survival had only just begun.