Prince's Introduction

On the other side of the world, a private jet sliced through the dawn sky before gliding onto the runway with the quiet authority of royalty.

The cabin door opened, and he appeared,

The Prince.

Dressed in a bespoke, charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin, he descended the jet's steps with the calm, lethal elegance of a man born to rule.

Behind him, a wall of elite guards followed in seamless formation, their movements silent and disciplined.

A convoy waited. Within minutes, the prince was seated in his ultramodern office, floor-to-ceiling glass, black marble, and a view that made cities look like chessboards beneath him.

He reclined in his leather swivel chair, fingers gliding across the keyboard with practiced ease.

Across the desk stood Nicolas, his most trusted aide, holding a stack of documents.

Nicolas cleared his throat.

"Sir, the deal concerning the wine refinery in the Republic of China has been finalized. The acquisition is complete."

The prince didn't look up; he simply continued typing.

Nicolas continued, flipping a page.

"The First Lady of Johannesburg has requested a private meeting, likely regarding our new mechanized gold-mining machinery. Also, you've been invited to the Guinness Annual Honors Event for the Most Successful Youngest Billionaire."

He hesitated.

"And the customized car you ordered has arrived. You may inspect it at your convenience."

Still, the prince typed.

"And concerning the Sean family..."

His hands stopped.

He finally raised his head, dark eyes sharp and alert.

"What about the Seans?"

Nicolas straightened immediately.

"Our planted allies have begun to move. Progress is steady. We've secured spies in every major sector under Sean control, and we've successfully persuaded several of their most trusted men to switch sides. Additionally, we've begun purchasing their shares... discreetly."

The prince leaned back, twirling a pen between his fingers. For a moment, he looked almost thoughtful, almost bored.

Then he spoke casually, almost as an afterthought.

"Oh. That reminds me."

A faint smirk touched his lips.

"I have a wife, don't I? How is she?"

Nicolas blinked, caught off guard.

"Yes, sir. About that... she has been well-behaved until yesterday."

The prince arched a brow.

"Go on."

"She demanded to see you and nearly turned the house upside down. When she learned her calls to her family were being monitored and blocked, she lost control. One maid suffered a blow to the ear, still bleeding as of yesterday. Another was hit with a vase and is currently unconscious."

The prince chuckled softly, low and dangerous.

"Quite a temper."

He tapped the pen against the desk.

"So she's not happy about being married to me... and it took her this long to notice my absence? Hm."

His eyes glinted.

"Not bad."

Nicolas hesitated.

"So... what should be done, sir?"

"Well," the prince said, rising from his chair, "since she doesn't seem to want her maids anymore, then let's not impose them on her."

Nicolas's head snapped up.

"...Sir? Withdraw them? All of them?"

"Yes. Exactly."

Nicolas swallowed.

"With respect, my Prince, she will starve. She doesn't know how to cook, and it takes ten maids hours to clean the entire estate. Removing all of them may not be... wise."

"Oh?"

The prince gave a slow, amused smile.

"In that case..."

He turned his back to Nicolas, looking out the massive window at the city he ruled like a kingdom.

"Send Lady Margaret to her."

Nicolas's eyes widened as though the prince had just ordered an execution.

"What? Lady Margaret?" he stammered. "S–sir, she could kill her! Madam Margaret is known across three continents for her ruthlessness. Sending her to handle a spoiled girl like Ivanna... it doesn't sound wise. I'm afraid she may torture the girl to death, my Prince."

The prince didn't even blink.

"And how," he asked calmly, "is that supposed to be my problem, Nicolas?"

Nicolas swallowed.

The prince set his pen down, folded his hands, and leaned back with unhurried grace.

"If her own parents watched her rot into the thing she is now, then she clearly needs re-education. You've seen how Vanessa was raised." His tone softened only slightly at the mention of his sister.

"Despite being our youngest, despite being a girl, she endured every form of military training Lady Margaret put her through. And she flourished."

His gaze sharpened dangerously.

"If Vanessa could survive that, then Ivanna has no excuse."

He picked up the pen again, twirling it slowly, thoughtfully.

"Do you know the number of things I've heard Ivanna did? The scandals? The filth?"

His jaw tightened.

"I will not tolerate that level of rottenness anywhere near my name. If she survives, good. If not..." He shrugged lightly.

"That is hardly my fault."

Nicolas bowed his head in reluctant acceptance.

"...Very well, sir. If that is your decision."

The prince paused, eyes narrowing in thought.

"Wait."

He tapped the pen against his desk.

"You said she has been demanding to see me, correct?"

"Yes, my prince."

A cold, calculating smile curved at his lips.

"Then perhaps I should grant her that one request."

He rose from his chair with the quiet power of a man who commands nations.

"Let's pay her a visit before her... rejuvenation begins."

He adjusted his cufflinks.

"Who knows? She may truly not survive Margaret's training. In that case..."

His smile deepened.

"I should see my bride once more, while she is still whole."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Prepare my car."

"Yes, my prince."

Nicolas bowed low and retreated from the office, leaving the prince tapping away remorselessly on his keyboard, unfazed and unhurried.

MEETING HER

Ivanna sat curled on her bed, seething.

Sulking.

Furious.

Her eyes were red from a night of yelling, and a fragile vase lay shattered on the floor, another casualty of her temper.

When the doorknob clicked, she didn't even bother looking.

"YOU LOWLY MAIDS!" she screamed, snatching a pillow and hurling it with all her strength.

"How dare you enter without my permission?! Get out before I strangle every one of..."

The words died.

Her breath caught.

The figure stepping into the room was not a maid.

He was tall, impossibly so, filling the doorway with a presence that made the air shift. His suit molded perfectly to a sculpted frame, the kind only discipline and power could create. His features... too perfect, too sharp, ethereal, almost unreal.

He looked like an angel carved from marble.

Or a demon disguised as one.

Ivanna's heart stuttered in her chest.

His aura, cold, commanding, untouchable, pressed against her like an invisible weight.

This man was not ordinary.

And this man was her...?

Her eyes narrowed suddenly, anger flaring back to life.

Her husband?

The reminder reignited her fury.

She sat up straighter on the bed, chin raised, attempting to hide the tremor that had shot down her spine moments ago.

The prince had barely taken one step into her room before a pillow flew at his face with the velocity of a missile. He caught it reflexively, years of combat training saving him from a humiliating smack, but the shock of it still stung his pride.

He lowered the pillow slowly, eyes sweeping the disaster around him.

The entire room looked like a war zone.

Shattered glass, overturned furniture, broken vases, torn curtains, nothing had survived her fury.

His jaw tightened.

"Wow," he murmured, voice low and edged with disbelief. "You did all this?"

He nodded once, disappointed.

"Hmm. Interesting."

Without another word, he turned and walked out.

Ivanna blinked, startled for a moment, before anger shot through her veins again. She stomped after him, following him into a much larger suite, his.

He entered with calm, controlled steps and slid off his tie, his back to her. Ivanna hovered behind him like a storm cloud, breathing hard, glaring at him with all the rage in her tiny, furious body.

He closed his eyes briefly, breathed out... steadying himself.

Then he turned.

And he froze.

For the first time, he truly saw her.

He had missed her appearance at the birthday party. At the wedding, she had avoided his gaze completely, half-hidden behind a veil, and he had been too consumed by vengeance to care. He assumed the worst, plain features, perhaps, or average beauty at best, reinforced by the city's unflattering rumors.

But the woman standing before him now...

She wasn't just beautiful.

She was devastating.

Her hazel eyes were bright and stormy, her lashes thick, her nose elegantly pointed, her lips full and plush with a natural crimson tint. And her body, God.

Curves sculpted in outrageous perfection. Rounded, full breasts. A flat waist. Hips that looked like they had been carved to tempt a saint. Skin smooth and glowing.

The prince's fingers twitched at his side.

He, a man who prided himself on self-control, felt his pulse stumble.

She looked like something out of a painting, too perfect to exist in reality. An untamed goddess wrapped in chaos.

He circled her slowly, expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him with subtle flickers, stealing forbidden glances, tracing every line of her body.

He had seen many beautiful women.

Women who graced magazine covers.

Women who ruled red carpets.

But none of them, not a single one, compared to Ivanna.

For a dangerous moment, he felt himself slipping.

Then he reminded himself of why she was in his life at all, revenge, strategy, political leverage.

He exhaled sharply, locking his emotions back into place.

"So," he said coolly, "I heard my bride demanded to see me. Here I am."

Ivanna scoffed, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"So you finally remember how to show up? Bride? Please, keep dreaming."

He chuckled softly, tilting his head.

"Really? Last time I checked, your family handed you over to me. I didn't ask for a wedding, yet they insisted. I was forced to register our marriage, remember?"

He tapped his chest mockingly.

"That automatically makes you my wife, Ivanna."

"Don't you dare call my name, you dimwit!" she snapped.

Before he could respond, she snatched something from the table and hurled it at him with vicious precision.

He caught it instantly.

His expression darkened.

She had thrown his limited-edition wristwatch, a custom piece worth more than the average apartment in the city.

"You call yourself a husband?" she shouted. "You left me here alone for almost ONE GOOD MONTHS! And you dare stand in front of me like you did nothing?! I could've gone with a dog instead of you!"

The prince exhaled slowly, as though he finally understood the root of her rage.

"I see where this is going," he murmured, placing the wristwatch on the bed with controlled precision. He lifted his gaze, eyes glinting.

"Not only do you enjoy throwing objects at your newly wedded husband... you also seem to have another problem."

He paused, lips curving.

"You miss me. You miss me so much you're practically growing fur."

Ivanna stared at him, then barked out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Really? Eugene, or whatever ridiculous name you go by..." she waved a hand dismissively "...I don't give a damn about you. If someone had asked me one months ago, I wouldn't even know you existed."

The prince raised a brow.

"How strange. Because my sources reported that you've been crying nonstop to see me. Yet here you are, suddenly indifferent."

"Indifferent?" she scoffed. "If I didn't need to speak to my parents, I wouldn't care if you dropped dead at the door."

He blinked once.

"Such a foul tongue."

"I want to speak with my parents," she snapped. "Or better yet, I want to go see them. And I want out of this rat hole. Everything about you and this place is creepy, I can practically feel the walls crawling."

"You don't like it?" he asked, voice calm, almost amused.

"Are you deaf?" She spread her arms dramatically. "What is there to like? This house looks like a haunted castle. I just want to talk to my parents, and then we're done with this conversation."

"So because you couldn't reach them, that's why you beat a maid unconscious?"

Ivanna rolled her eyes with royal arrogance.

"What is my business with an ordinary maid? Why should I care about low-born people? If they can't answer simple questions, I'll beat them to death if I want. Those useless creatures, tell them not to show their faces again unless they want worse."

The prince's smile thinned into something dangerous.

"Oh, your wish, sweetheart. Not mine."

He tilted his head. "Just... be careful what you wish for. You never know when it might come true."

He smirked, cold and knowing, as he picked up his jacket and his wristwatch. Then he turned, clearly intending to leave.

The realization hit Ivanna instantly.

She rushed ahead, blocking the doorway, glaring up at him defiantly.

"What kind of uncultured behavior is this?" he asked, tone calm but laced with ice. "It speaks poorly of the Sean family if their daughter behaves this disgracefully."

The slap came fast.

A loud crack echoed through the room.

The prince's head barely tilted, but his eyes widened, shock flashing across them.

No one.

No one in his entire life had ever dared lay a hand on him.

Not his father.

Not his mother.

Not his enemies.

And this girl, this spoiled, reckless girl had just slapped him.

"You must be insane to question my parents' training!" Ivanna shouted, trembling with anger. "And don't pretend you haven't heard of me. I hate lowly and stupid people. And I hate men even more. So watch yourself."

The prince slowly touched his cheek, then looked at her with unsettling calm.

"...Did you just slap me?"

"I did." She folded her arms, chin raised. "So what now? Hit me back. Then we'll see what kind of upbringing your parents gave you."

For a long moment, he simply stared at her.

Then he laughed softly, empty, humorless.

"I can see you have the personality to anger someone to death."

He stepped closer, his presence towering over her.

"But it's your lucky day... because... I don't hit women."

He leaned in, voice dropping to a soft, lethal whisper.

"But don't mistake that for mercy."

Ivanna swallowed, suddenly feeling something cold crawl down her spine.

He straightened his jacket, eyes hardened into steel.

"In fact," he said, stepping past her, "I have something far better in store for you. To put it plainly, Ivanna..."

He glanced back at her, expression dark, unreadable, and terrifyingly calm.

"Getting entangled with me was the worst luck of your life."

The hatred that flashed across his face was so raw, so sharp, that Ivanna's breath caught.

Goosebumps rose on her skin.

For the first time since she met him, she felt... FEAR.

She stood frozen, staring at the doorway, and only then realized he was already gone.

Ivanna returned to her room with her mind spinning.

That look the prince had given her, so unsettling, so piercing, kept replaying in her head.

Why? Why would he stare at her that way? She was certain she had never met him before. She hadn't offended anyone of his status in her life. So why did it feel as though he was looking directly into her soul?

The unease began gnawing at her.

More than ever, she felt the desperate urge to contact her parents, immediately, at all cost.

Hours passed.

Ivanna refused to leave her room. She refused to eat. She refused to entertain anything connected to the palace. The more she thought, the angrier she became, and the more determined she was to shut the world out.

But the next morning, something felt off.

By the time dawn broke, Ivanna was drained, emotionally hollow, physically weak, and mentally exhausted.

Yet something felt different.

Very different.

Silence... deeper than before.

Too deep.

No footsteps in the hall.

No soft knocks.

No maids whispering outside her door, waiting for her wrath to descend.

Nothing.

No one came to check on her, not even the maids who normally stopped by to clean, bring food, or hover nervously around her demands.

The silence was... unnatural.

Unsettling.

Her room remained a mess from the night before, clothes scattered, sheets disheveled, and the sight only infuriated her further.

"These useless maids..." she hissed.

"They dare ignore me?"

Ivanna sat up slowly, her eyes scanning the chaotic mess of her room, the unmade bed, clothes thrown everywhere, food she refused to touch.

Normally, such disorder would disgust her.

But today... it chilled her instead.

"Where are those stupid maids?" she muttered.

Her voice sounded small in the eerie quiet.

Driven by annoyance with determination to give them a piece of her mind, she stormed out of her room.

...and stopped.

Because... the moment she stepped into the hallway, her irritation slowly shifted into confusion.

The villa felt... abandoned.

As though life had been drained out of it overnight.

She moved down the long hallway cautiously, a strange unease settling into her bones. Every step echoed too loudly against marble floors that should've been bustling with activity.

That was when she finally saw someone.

A lone figure seated near the living room corridor, a massive newspaper held up, covering their face.

For a moment, Ivanna felt relief, finally, someone to yell at.

"Excuse me!" she snapped. "Who are you, and where are the maids? Why is this place so deserted?"

The newspaper lowered, slowly.

Ivanna froze.

The woman behind it was no ordinary woman.

She was tall, towering, too tall for a woman, almost unnaturally so. Broad-shouldered. Strong-jawed. She should be in her mid-forties, built with the kind of musculature that came from years of discipline and training. Her aura felt like steel wrapped in silence.

For the first time in a long time, Ivanna felt genuinely... intimidated.

The woman's eyes held hers without blinking.

"And who," Ivanna whispered, "are you?"

The stranger crossed her legs with calm elegance, her posture poised and powerful.

"You must be Ivanna," she said, studying her like a puzzle.

"I am Lady Margaret. I'm the one in charge of this house now."

Ivanna's anger flared back to life.

"In charge of the house now? What does that even mean?"

"It means exactly what I said." Lady Margaret offered a cool smile.

"And since you will be staying here, you must obey the new rules. Rule number one: there are no maids. Which means you will make your own bed, cook your own meals, and carry out all basic cleaning duties."

Rules?

HER?

Ivanna's eyebrows flew up in disbelief.

Ivanna choked on her own breath.

"What?!"

Then louder, more furious,

"And who is the mad dog that came up with such a ridiculous rule?! Me? Doing chores? How absurd! And before anything else, who do you even think you are? And where is that son of a...Eugene or whatever his name is?! He needs to come out here right now or he'll regret ever-"

Lady Margaret simply smiled.

A calm, dangerous smile.

"Rule number two," she said softly, "you do not use foul language here... and you never-ever-raise your voice."

Ivanna's anger surged so violently that she didn't even think...

she simply moved.

She stormed toward Lady Margaret, arm raised, ready to deliver a vicious slap across that infuriatingly calm face.

But she never made contact.

A hand, large, calloused, and impossibly fast, caught her wrist mid-air.

The grip was iron.

Ivanna gasped, her eyes widening as she tried to yank her hand free.

She twisted, pulled, jerked...

but it was like trying to move a mountain.

Lady Margaret didn't even blink.

She simply looked at Ivanna with a lazy, unimpressed expression.

"Rule number three," she said, her voice disturbingly soft,

"you never raise your hand to strike anyone here. And if you ever attempt to hit me again... you may not live to see the next day."

Those words, calm, measured, deadly, sent cold terror shooting down Ivanna's spine.

That was when Ivanna realized something horrifying:

Margaret wasn't even trying.

No effort, no strain, no shift of muscle.

And yet Ivanna's wrist felt like it was about to snap in two.

A sharp pain exploded through her arm.

Sweat gathered instantly across her forehead as panic overtook her anger.

Then...

as casually as someone flicking away dust...

Lady Margaret released her, sending her stumbling back a few steps like discarded trash.

Humiliation washed over Ivanna in a wave so hot it burned.

Never in her entire life had anyone...anyone...handled her like that.

Not even her strictest teachers dared to touch her.

She was Ivanna Sean.

Spoiled. Revered. Untouchable.

And this... this brute had tossed her like she was nothing.

Rage blinded her.

Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest object...a flower vase, heavy and expensive-looking...from the decorative stand.

"If you want war," she hissed, "I'll gladly..."

The sound of something slicing the air made her freeze.

Lady Margaret stood holding a long, thick whip...where it came from, Ivanna didn't know.

But the cold fury in her eyes said everything.

"Rule number four," she said, her tone icy and emotionless,

"for every object you break, you will receive ten lashes."

Ivanna's jaw hung open.

"Wh-what? Who will flog me? You?" Her voice cracked with disbelief.

"This...this is insane! You're all lunatics! If Eugene is behind this madness, then someone should tell him he can forget about the marriage! I would rather die than marry a devil like him!"

Spitting fire, she stormed back to her room.

But the moment she stepped inside, the chaotic mess suffocated her.

Clothes everywhere.

Sheets tangles.

Her own scent of misery lingering in the air.

She couldn't breathe.

She fled to the next room over, collapsed on the bed, and finally...

broke.

Tears spilled fast, hot, uncontrollable.

Her pride shattered.

Her certainty dissolved.

Her world...one that used to revolve around luxury and parental affection...was crumbling beneath her feet.

How did it come to this?

How did she fall from grace to dirt so quickly?

She cried until her body trembled and her throat ached.

She screamed for her parents silently, over and over in her mind, wishing they would burst through the door and take her home.

But no one came.

Not that day.

Not the next.

By the third day, hunger clawed at her insides like a beast, dizzy spells hit her every few minutes, and she felt on the verge of fainting.

She had to eat something.

Anything.

So she dragged herself out of the room and down the silent hallway once again.

The villa was still empty of life.

Still far too quiet.

She headed to the dining room...

...and froze.

Lady Margaret sat at the head of the long dining table, silently eating a feast fit for royalty.

Rice, meats, fruits, soups...steaming, fragrant, abundant.

Ivanna's stomach growled so loudly she winced.

Margaret didn't even glance at her.

"Where... is my food?" Ivanna asked, voice hoarse.

Only then did Margaret turn her head, raising a brow.

"Are you truly this rude, or are you simply lacking brain cells?" she asked calmly.

"I told you yesterday...there is no one here for you to order around. When you're hungry, you cook your own food."

Ivanna looked at the feast again, desperate and close to tears.

"I... I don't know my way around the kitchen," she admitted in a trembling whisper she hardly recognized as her own.

"That can be fixed," Margaret replied, taking another bite.

"Today, you will begin learning to cook your own meals."

Ivanna stared at her in disbelief.

"Are you even listening to yourself? I have to learn to cook before I can eat? What kind of twisted place is this?!"

Whirling around, she stormed off...

but this time, there was no strength in her anger.

Only exhaustion.

In the kitchen, she found fresh fruits on the counter and various ingredients in the fridge.

She gathered what she could...bread, water, a few fruits, some basic snacks...and dragged herself back toward her room.

Her stomach still growled, her pride remained bruised, but at least she wouldn't collapse from hunger.

For now.

In the Process of Breaking Her...

The strange arrangement continued for several days...

each one dragging Ivanna deeper into a misery she never imagined possible.

She felt like she was slowly dying.

Her stomach constantly ached.

Her lips were dry.

Her body felt light, weak, hollow.

And worst of all...

she craved real food.

Hot food.

Cooked food.

Meals she had taken for granted her entire life.

Now?

She lived on fruits, bread, water... scraps.

Like a prisoner.

She couldn't even step outside her room without feeling her heart rattle with fear.

Between Lady Margaret's monstrous strength and that cold, merciless stare...

Ivanna's survival instincts screamed one truth:

Avoid her at all costs.

One wrong move and Margaret would break her like a twig.

By now, even Ivanna couldn't pretend not to see it.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Whatever her parents believed about Eugene...

Ivanna was convinced it was a lie.

He didn't love her.

He didn't want her.

He probably hated either her or her family deeply.

They had fallen into a trap.

A dangerous one.

And Ivanna...

spoiled, proud, pampered Ivanna...

was paying the price for their mistake.

But even in her despair, one instinct burned brighter than everything else:

Survive.

If her parents ever realized their error, if they ever came to rescue her...

she needed to still be alive when that day came.

The Sixth Day

Ivanna woke abruptly, her senses pierced by a sharp delicious aroma drifting into her room.

Chicken.

Spices.

Fresh bread.

Warm broth.

Her mouth watered instantly.

Her empty stomach cramped and twisted until she winced.

She couldn't resist.

She staggered out of bed and followed the scent like she was hypnotized.

In the kitchen stood Lady Margaret,

the towering, muscular terror, stirring pots and flipping pans like she was preparing a royal banquet.

Ivanna swallowed hard.

Forcing herself to act indifferent, she grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and escaped outside to the fountain, pretending she had come only for that.

She sat there, hugging the bottle, trying to calm her nerves as that heavenly scent tormented her.

Minutes passed.

Hours maybe.

Finally, she re-entered the house.

Lady Margaret had moved to the dining table...

and once again, an entire feast lay displayed in front of her.

Golden rice.

Grilled vegetables.

Crisp chicken.

Freshly baked rolls.

Steaming soups.

Ivanna couldn't look away this time.

She approached the table like someone walking toward salvation.

"I'm hungry," she said.

Silence.

"I said I'm hungry!" she insisted, louder.

Silence.

Her voice sharpened with desperation.

"Is Eugene aware you're starving me? Do you people want to kill me? Even kidnappers feed the person they kidnap! What is wrong with everyone in this cursed house? And why don't you ever say anything?! Are you mute too? This place is insane... all of you are insane!"

She turned to leave...

until Lady Margaret's voice floated behind her, calm and cold.

"I noticed you've been sleeping in different guest rooms instead of cleaning your own," she said.

"Today, you will clean your room."

Ivanna spun back, enraged.

"I will do no such thing! You can die if you want... cleaning is NOT my job! I said I won't do the chores of a maid!"

Margaret simply shrugged, unbothered.

Ivanna stormed down the hall, intending to hide in another room...

but when she tried the first door...

Locked.

She tried the second.

Locked.

Third.

Locked.

Every single guest room...

sealed shut.

Except hers.

Her filthy, smelly, disastrous room.

She stood frozen, fury burning hotter than her hunger.

Then she marched back to Margaret.

"What exactly are you doing?! Why did you lock all the rooms?!"

Margaret didn't even look up from her meal.

"Because that's not how humans live," she said simply.

"You cannot run from responsibility forever. Sooner or later, you will run out of rooms. And then what? Will you sleep outside? Clean your room."

Ivanna's voice cracked.

"Why are you doing this to me? First you starve me, now you lock me out of every room? How am I supposed to survive in that filthy room?! I can't clean it alone...this is wicked!"

Margaret raised a hand, silencing her.

"I am eating. I do not talk while eating. If you still haven't grasped the simple instructions I've given you, then kindly leave."

Ivanna stared at the dishes again,

her eyes burning with agony and humiliation.

"You're wicked," she whispered.

"You don't even need all this food. You're just doing this to hurt me."

Margaret smirked slightly and lifted a brow.

"Ivanna, stop acting like a spoiled child. You're not being punished, you're being trained. Once you learn how to behave, your life will return to perfection."

The softness in her voice, so unexpected, made Ivanna blink.

For the first time...

Margaret didn't seem like a monster.

Just... firm.

Strict.

And Ivanna, weakened and starving, finally began weighing her options.

She breathed out slowly and said in a small, careful voice:

"...If I learn how to cook... I won't starve anymore, right?"

"Yes."

That single word tasted like defeat, but Ivanna swallowed it anyway.

Survival first, everything else could wait.

Until she saw Eugene again, she would play along. She would endure.

She would live.

"Okay," she breathed, trying to keep her pride from shattering, "I'm willing to learn. Can you... teach me now?"

Lady Margaret nodded with a surprising calmness.

"After breakfast. Sit. Eat. Then I'll teach you how to prepare your lunch and dinner. Is that acceptable?"

Ivanna didn't even hear the rest.

Permission to eat, that was all she needed.

She dropped into the chair and began eating with a desperation she couldn't hide.

She devoured everything, gulping, shoving, tearing at the food as if someone would pull the plate away at any moment.

Lady Margaret watched, unimpressed, her brows tightening in quiet disapproval.

When Ivanna finished, she slumped back, breathless and overstuffed.

The moment her hunger disappeared... so did her interest in "learning."

She excused herself immediately, clutching her stomach dramatically, and returned to her room.

But the instant she stepped in, she froze.

The mess.

The chaos.

The smell.

Reality punched her in the face.

Still, she forced herself to start.

Clumsily. Angrily.

Every movement filled with resentment.

She bent to pick up a broken porcelain vase...

"Ah!"

The sharp edge sliced her finger, and she screamed, expecting someone to rush in.

Anyone.

But no one came.

The silence was worse than the pain.

Her eyes burned with frustrated tears as she shoved her wounded finger into her mouth and continued cleaning, slower this time, more careful.

Hours later, exhausted and shaking, she collapsed onto her newly cleared bed.

It wasn't perfect.

Not even close.

But it was clean enough to lie in.

For the first time since arriving, Ivanna slept soundly.

The Next Days

The routine repeated itself.

Eat.

Learn.

Clean.

Endure.

She had no choice.

When she entered the kitchen for her first cooking lesson, she coughed endlessly from the smoke.

Her eyes watered.

Her throat burned.

Her hair smelled like firewood.

But she learned.

Because learning meant eating.

And eating meant surviving.

Gradually, shockingly, she began to realize cooking wasn't as impossible as she thought.

Not with Lady Margaret guiding her step by step.

She also discovered that if she didn't scatter her belongings or create explosions of clothes in her room, cleaning wasn't nearly as hard.

The stress still pressed on her like a weight, but she finally stopped feeling like a prisoner.

Until the day she fell sick.

The fever struck like a slap.

Her head throbbed, her vision blurred, and her body heated like a furnace.

She lay on her bed, trembling.

Lady Margaret entered, saw her flushed face, and simply placed a bottle of medicine on the bedside table.

"Take this."

"That's all?!" Ivanna croaked. "I need a hospital! Call Eugene! Someone!"

Margaret walked away without a second glance.

The neglect stung more than the fever itself.

Ivanna felt small.

Invisible.

Disposable.

That was when the idea of escape began whispering in her mind.

For days she planned, imagining routes, timing movements, memorizing guard rotations.

Finally, her moment arrived.

Before dawn, the maids' transport van arrived as usual.

While they unloaded supplies, Ivanna slipped inside and hid behind stacked boxes, heart hammering like a drum.

The van moved.

It passed the inner gate.

The courtyard checkpoint.

Two guard stations.

No alarms.

She dared to hope.

But at the final gate, the largest, most fortified one, the van stopped.

A guard's voice thundered:

"Everyone, step out. Full inspection."

Ivanna's heart plummeted.

The guards searched the van ruthlessly, and seconds later...

"Found her."

Rough hands dragged Ivanna out kicking and screaming.

Humiliation burned her skin hotter than the fever.

She was dragged back to Lady Margaret, dumped at her feet like a captured animal.

Margaret didn't yell.

Didn't scold.

Didn't show anger.

"Outside," she said calmly.

Ivanna didn't understand, not until she was forced to kneel in the yard under the unforgiving sun.

Minutes passed.

Hours.

Her skin burned.

Her knees numb.

Her vision swam.

She truly thought she might die there.