Chapter 4
Isobel’s POV
Morning cut through the curtains like a blade. I stepped into the dining room and froze.
Lydia sat at the head of the table—my seat—draped in silk, hand resting over her belly like a queen surveying a conquered throne. Marco hovered behind her, massaging her shoulders, smiling the smile I once thought belonged only to me.
“Good morning,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hair without so much as glancing at me. “You should learn from Lydia, Isobel. Gentle, forgiving… everything you’re not.”
“Good morning, Isobel. Don’t mind Marco. He means no harm.” Her eyes sparkled with triumph. Bile rose in my throat.
I moved toward my old chair. Marco’s voice cut through the silence like a whip. “Oh, Isobel, sit here instead.” He pointed to a small wooden stool used by the servants. A faint curl of amusement touched his lips.
“That’s more fitting for you anyway, until you stop bullying Lydia,” he added.
Humiliation burned like acid. I forced myself to sit tall, chin high, pride coiling into silent fury.
Marco served Lydia first. “See how she glows, Isobel? You should learn from Lydia.”
I smiled faintly, dry and sharp. “I intend to learn from both of you.”
By afternoon, the attic awaited. My clothes, books, memories—all moved there. My old room stripped bare.