Page 58 of Marriage of Revenge

"Of course, of course." Henrik's hand wavers as he lifts his glass. "A toast."

Crystal clinks while my eyes drift to the bathroom where Naomi's found temporary sanctuary. At least one of us escaped, even for a moment. I need to warn Antonio. Or Paola - if that number she made me memorize when I thought she was an ally instead of another player in my father's game leads anywhere but a trap.

The moment the toast ends and Naomi returns, I make my move. "Cold," I murmur, all delicate shiver and practiced grace. The bedroom feels like freedom until I remember it's just another cage. Inside the closet, my fingers shake as I type: "Tell the doctor it's poison. Snake venom. Paola, if you're there - make sure he knows."

The phone disappears behind my suitcase like another secret I have to keep. I grab a cardigan, arrange the pillow just so - every movement a performance, every second counted like heartbeats between doses.

I've barely settled back into this feast of fears when Mrs. Lefevre sweeps in, her smile sharp as Antonio's blade. "Well, well. Don't tell me you started without me." Her presence shifts the air like storm clouds gathering. "I want to know everything."

And isn't that perfect? Another predator joining our deadly dinner party.

The evening drags like chemo hours - too many courses, too many smiles that don't reach eyes, too much weight pressing down while I wait for news about Antonio. Every minute feels like those moments between test results, between life and death.

It’s been two hours since I sent that text to the number Paola had me learn by heart—when she pretended to be my friend. My one ally in this world of deceit.

I trusted her too quickly.

Because sometimes you don’t have a choice.

Finally, back in our room, Naomi collapses onto the bed. The defeat in her shoulders reminds me of my reflection during bad treatment days, but she's trying to hide it - always protecting me, even now.

"What about messaging your father?" I whisper, though hope feels dangerous here.

"He's watched constantly." Her voice carries resignation learned too young. "One wrong move and..."

"Still nothing from—"

"I checked while changing. Radio silence."

My father's voice thunders through the door, fury vibrating through wood like hospital monitors screaming warnings. "He survived?"

My heart performs the kind of leap that would panic my cardiologist, but I don't care. I press against the door, wood grain marking my skin like another scar I'll wear gladly. Relief floods through me, loosening the vice grip around my chest.

A muffled voice responds: "He did. Wedding's still on."

"How?" My father's demand carries death in its wake.

"They say his Doc's the best in Europe."

And the flutter in my chest isn't SVT or fear.

It's hope.

Dangerous, beautiful hope.

Something slams - a drawer, a fate, a future - followed by my father's voice, cold as hospital tiles at midnight. "Henrik played his part well. He'll be rewarded. And Isabella..." A pause heavy with manipulation. "She's learning. Starting to see that Antonio walks closer to death than life, survival or not."

"Sir?" Confusion threads through the response.

My father's next words drop like bodies in the Mediterranean. "When the wedding happens, Isabella will kill the Beast herself."

"You'd trust your daughter to—"

"I have methods." The certainty in his voice makes my blood freeze. "And if she fails? Naomi becomes Radomir's prize. Isabella will choose her friend's safety over any... lingering attachments."

Each word builds my cage higher, stronger, deadlier. I stumble back from the door, lungs forgetting how to work like those first days after treatment. My gaze finds Naomi - my best friend, my sister, my constant through every nightmare - and panic claws up my throat sharper than any chemo.

I promised to protect her. Promised to save her from becoming another casualty in my father's power play. But this?

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