Chapter 397

The night was deep and still.

Moonlight spilled through the balcony like a gauzy veil, casting a gentle, silvery haze over the bedroom. Everything felt warm and peaceful, wrapped in the hush of midnight.

Isadora lay in bed, arms draped around the man beside her, instinctively seeking the comfort of his familiar, pine-scented warmth.

It had been a long, exhausting day.

She was so tired.

She'd thought she wouldn't be able to sleep in the Fitzgerald family's grand estate.

But now, drowsiness weighed heavily on her.

"Victor..." she murmured, half-asleep.

Victor's dark eyes lingered on her, deep and intent. He stroked her soft curls with

a gentle hand, his voice low and tender. "What is it?"

Maybe she was already dreaming. With her eyes closed, Isadora whispered, "Good... night."

Moments later, the room fell silent, save for the steady, peaceful rhythm of her breathing.

She slept quietly, curled up like a kitten.

for a long while, then bent

"Goodnight, my Isadora."

slipped carefully out from under the

rose and left

Victor stepped into the hallway, the softness in his gaze faded,

a fortress-grand and imposing, with its main house flanked by four smaller wings, all in timeless,

wing, his posture composed and commanding, dressed in black from head

crossed the back garden, and paused at the door of a room in

door and

a carved wooden chair,

wearing the elegant, slate-grey suit she'd chosen that afternoon,

seem surprised to see Victor. Resting on her

eyes cold and unreadable. "Why did you do those things

was ragged, hoarse. "That was

tone icy. "Would Pattie have dared act without

the Fitzgerald family, commanding respect-even Dorian Fitzgerald had deferred to her. No

own grandson-the boy she'd raised with her own hands -would defy her, again and again, all

her

I gave the order?" she snapped. "Victor, do

a long pause, his voice cut through the room like a

Isadora again. This is the last time

sharp sound broke

hurled the photograph of

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