Ophelia froze.
The color left her face so fast that even Luca, who had only been half paying attention a moment ago, immediately straightened and looked at her properly. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the cloth still in her hand, and her eyes widened slowly as the memory returned with cruel perfect timing.
She had left.
Only for a moment.
Only to get the cloth.
But she had still left.
And the person she had left alone near Isabella's food had been Mira.
Or whatever that woman truly was.
Cyrus saw the answer on Ophelia's face before she even managed to speak.
That was enough.
He did not wait.
He did not ask again.
He did not need another word.
One moment he was seated beside Isabella with the spoon still in his hand, his face cold in that frightening snake way of his, and the next moment the whole room exploded.
The table flipped first.
