Chapter 7 No.7

Seraphina POV

The heavy silence stretching over the remnants of breakfast was shattered by the sound of heavy boots echoing in the corridor.

Before the guards could drag Isabella out of the Formal Dining Hall, the mahogany doors were shoved open. Lucia Moretti, Isabella's aunt, marched into the room flanked by two heavily armed Moretti Soldiers. Her chin was tilted in absolute arrogance, completely disregarding the fact that she had just trespassed into the heart of the Stark estate.

"Let her go," Lucia snapped at the Stark guards, her voice cracking like a whip. She didn't even offer a respectful nod to Don Silas. Instead, her venomous gaze landed on me. "Did you really think a ghost from a forgotten grave could take the place of the Stark Matriarch?"

Lena Stark stood up, her face flushed with indignation at the blatant disrespect. "Lucia, this is a private family matter. You cannot simply-"

"We are here to take our princess home," Lucia interrupted coldly, her eyes slicing through Lena. "Not to listen to the excuses of a failing family."

The insult hung in the air, a blatant declaration of war.

Panic seized Marco. The realization that his political alliance-and his future-was walking out the door broke whatever fragile composure he had left. He shoved past his mother and grabbed Isabella's wrist.

"Isabella, please," Marco begged, his voice trembling with a pathetic desperation that made my stomach turn. "Don't do this. Stay. I promise you, I will deal with her. You are the only one I want."

Isabella ripped her hand from his grasp as if his touch burned. A cruel, mocking smile twisted her lips. "Deal with her?" she sneered, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Like you dealt with Arabella? Why did you even bother orchestrating her 'accidental' drowning in the lake if you didn't have the spine to finish what you started!"

The dining hall plunged into a deathly stillness.

Marco's face drained of all color, turning the shade of a fresh corpse. He stumbled back, his eyes darting frantically toward his father. I kept my expression perfectly blank, though my heart hammered a vicious rhythm against my ribs. There it is. The confession. The final nail in his coffin.

"We are leaving," Lucia commanded, grabbing Isabella's arm.

They turned toward the exit. It was time to spring the trap.

"Are you really leaving, Isabella?" I asked. My voice was soft, laced with a sickeningly sweet concern that stopped her dead in her tracks. "The first Stark grandchild shouldn't grow up without a father's presence."

Isabella froze. Slowly, she turned around, her eyes wide with a terror so profound it stripped away her arrogance. "You're lying," she breathed, her voice shaking. "Shut up! Shut up!"

In a devout, traditional Mafia family, a premarital pregnancy during a mourning period wasn't just a scandal-it was a death sentence to a woman's honor.

I shifted my gaze to my mother-in-law, feigning innocent surprise. "Oh, Lena, surely you knew? A mother can always sense the joy of her first grandchild."

Isabella's head snapped toward Lena, her eyes blazing with betrayal. "You told her?!" she shrieked.

Lena blinked, momentarily caught off guard. But across the table, Aunt Francesca caught Lena's eye. A silent, calculating exchange passed between the two older women. A Stark heir was leverage. It was the ultimate chain to bind the Morettis.

Lena straightened her spine, her expression hardening into stone. "Yes," Lena declared, her voice steady. "She is carrying a Stark."

"No!" Isabella screamed, thrashing against her aunt's grip. "Marco, tell them it's a lie!"

Marco stared at the floor, suffocating in his own cowardice. His silence was a damning confirmation. Isabella lunged forward and slapped him across the face, the sharp crack echoing like a gunshot.

Don Silas finally moved. He folded his newspaper, stood up, and walked slowly toward the center of the room. The sheer weight of his presence forced everyone into submission.

"This concerns Stark blood," the Don decreed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that left no room for argument. "It is family business. Isabella will remain here until the child is safely born."

"You cannot keep her!" Lucia hissed, stepping forward.

Don Silas didn't even look at her. "Escort Lucia Moretti off my property. Lock down the gates."

The Stark Soldiers immediately moved in, forming a human wall between Isabella and her aunt. Lucia's face contorted with pure rage as she was forced backward out of the dining hall, leaving her niece behind.

The heavy doors slammed shut, the metallic click of the lock sealing Isabella's fate. She stood trembling in the center of the room, surrounded by the family she despised, completely and utterly trapped.