Chapter 3

I woke the next morning to unfamiliar birdsong.

The bed beside me was empty and neatly made, untouched from the night before.

Had Vincent spent the entire night in his wheelchair?

A warmth stirred in my chest.

I changed and went downstairs, where the duke sat at the head of the long dining table.

Carlos, with dark circles under his eyes, sat grimly to the duke's left.

Vincent sat to the right, his expression calm, as if last night's drama had never happened.

When Carlos saw me, his gaze stabbed like a knife.

I ignored him and took my seat beside Vincent.

"Good morning, Gordon," I greeted the duke.

"Morning." The duke's curt reply acknowledged me as his new daughter-in-law.

The breakfast atmosphere was tense.

The clink of forks and knives sounded unnaturally loud.

Then, a dainty figure appeared at the dining room door.

It was Isabella.

She wore a bright yellow dress, her face perfectly made up, and feigned surprise as she covered her mouth. "Oh my, did I come at a bad time?"

Her eyes lingered on me for a second, gleaming with subtle triumph.

She hurried to Carlos's side, her voice full of concern. "Carlos, you drank so much last night. Is your head still hurting?"

Her sweet, syrupy tone gave me goosebumps.

Carlos's expression softened at the sight of her.

"I'm fine," he said gently.

The scene felt painfully familiar.

In my past life, they had flaunted their bond in front of me without shame.

And I, like a fool, believed Carlos's claim that they were "just friends."

"Aria... oh, I suppose it's Mrs. Fowler now," Isabella said, turning to me with an innocent smile. "I never imagined you'd choose to marry Vincent. But as long as you're happy, that's what matters. Carlos loves you so much. Seeing you happy must make him happy too."

Her words sounded like blessings but were meant to wound.

She was reminding me I had married a cripple while Carlos's heart belonged to her.

She was gloating over her victory.

Carlos, hearing her, put on a pained, helpless look, gazing at me with feigned affection.

What a performance.

I picked up my napkin and wiped my mouth slowly.

"Isabella, in what capacity are you meddling in the duke's family affairs?" I asked coolly.

Her smile froze. "I... I'm Carlos's friend. Isn't it normal to care about him?"

"Friend?" I gave a small laugh. "If I recall, your father is just a stable manager for my family. Since when does a servant's daughter get to call herself a friend of the duke's son?"

Isabella's face flushed red.

Her low birth was her deepest insecurity.

She had clawed her way into high society, mimicking the manners of noble ladies, and despised any mention of her origins.

"You!" she sputtered, her eyes welling with tears as she looked to Carlos for rescue.

"Aria, you've gone too far!" Carlos slammed his hand on the table, leaping to her defense. "Who are you to question Isabella's status? Apologize!"

"Apologize?" I raised my eyes to meet his. "For what? For her overstepping her place at the duke's table, meddling with the household?"

"I didn't!" Isabella protested.

"Are you telling me how to view my husband, or telling Carlos how to treat his sister-in-law?" My voice turned icy. "Miss Isabella, this is the duke's mansion, not your backyard. Hasn't your father taught you to watch your tongue?"

A loud crack rang out.

The duke slammed his knife on the table.

"Silence, all of you!" he bellowed. "Bickering first thing in the morning-what a disgrace!"

His cold gaze swept over Isabella. "A servant's daughter-who gave you the nerve to step into the main house's dining room?"

Isabella trembled, her face pale. "My lord, I... I only..."

"Steward!" the duke roared. "Throw her out! She's not to set foot in this mansion again!"

"Yes, my lord." The old steward stepped forward, gesturing for her to leave.

Isabella looked desperately at Carlos.

Carlos's face darkened, but under the duke's stern gaze, he couldn't muster a single word.

In the end, Isabella was escorted out, tears streaming down her face.

The dining room fell silent again.

The duke snorted and left the table.

Carlos glared at me, his eyes burning with rage, as if he wanted to tear me apart.

"Well done, Aria," he spat. "To get back at me, you'd stoop to such low tactics."

I lifted my coffee cup and took a sip. "To deal with low people, you use low tactics."

His chest heaved with anger, and he threw down his napkin before storming off.

The vast dining room was left with just me and Vincent.

"Satisfied?" he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

I paused.

He had backed me up, giving me the chance to handle the situation myself.

"Somewhat," I said, looking away, a bit uneasy.

"Next time you face people like that, don't waste words," Vincent said calmly. "Make them disappear."

His words carried a ruthlessness that didn't match his appearance.

I looked at him and realized this man in the wheelchair might be far stronger than I had ever imagined.