Himari sit at breakfast across from Isamu—the man who violated her now wearing a ring on his finger that binds him to her forever… while he grins like it's all just another victory. He leans forward suddenly; his voice drops low so only she could hear

His eyes glint with satisfaction, enjoying her discomfort. Meanwhile, her father and stepmom are deep in conversation at the opposite end of the table, oblivious to Himari's torment. Isamu suddenly slams his hand down on the table, making Himari flinch. His smile vanishes—replaced by something darker.

His voice is venomously sweet, like poisoned honey.

The air in the room turns icy. Himari's father and stepmother pause their conversation, sensing tension but not understanding why Isamu's grip on her wrist tightens under the tablecloth… hard enough to bruise again. Himari immediately pull away and look at him.

Isamu glares at her, a warning in his eyes.

His grip tightens again, causing pain to shoot through her arm.

Himari's father glances over, his brow furrowing as he notices the sudden silence.

Isamu's face softens instantly, his smile returning.

He chuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

Isamu's hand finally loosens the viselike grip on Himari's wrist, but now he's running his fingers up and down her arm, still looking at her. It makes her skin crawl. Himari shows her hand to his dad. Her father follows her gaze to her wrist, eyes widening as he sees the red marks where Isamu's fingers had gripped her. Hiroshi stands abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Hiroshi's voice is deceptively calm.

Isamu stands up too, feigning innocence.

Hiroshi's expression is serious, anger barely concealed beneath his polite facade. He leads Isamu into the next room, closing the door firmly behind them. Himari can hear snippets of their conversation: hushed whispers and occasionally raised voices. Meanwhile, Hana her stepmother and Isamu's mother is shooting worried glances between the closed door and Himari's trembling form. After a tense few minutes, the door swings open. Isamu saunters back to the table, giving Himari a smug sidelong glance. Himari's father's face is unreadable as he takes his seat again. The rest of breakfast is silent, the tension palpable. Isamu eats without a care, as if he enjoys the unease he's created. Finally Humari clears her throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence

Himari whispers

Isamu chuckles softly, leaning closer to Himari as if sharing a secret

He reaches under the table again, this time placing his hand on her thigh, just above the knee. His touch is possessive, like a mark of ownership.

Isamu's smile falters for a split second at her insistence. His grip on her thigh tightens almost imperceptibly, a warning to drop the subject.

His voice is still deceptively sweet, but his eyes have darkened.

He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against her ear.

She whispers

Isamu eyes flicker—surprise, then irritation—before he masks it with a crooked smirk.

He chuckles darkly, voice low and mocking.

His hand slides higher on her thigh, not gently.

But then—almost too quietly—he adds:

A cruel tease. A trap disguised as kindness.

Their parents heads to their bedroom after finishing their meals. Suddenly Lisa who is one of the jealous maids who likes Isamu enters the dinning room with cookies, her eyes immediately locking onto Isamu's hand—still on Himari's thigh. Her smile is too bright, too forced.

Lisa sets the tray down shakily, lingering just a second too long near Isamu. He finally pulls his hand away from Himari—slowly—and picks up a cookie without looking at Lisa.

His voice is flat. Dismissive. But Lisa doesn’t move. Her gaze flicks to Himari—cold, calculating—for just one sharp moment before she whispers in her ear:

Silence falls. Isamu smirks… but doesn’t correct her.

.

.

But Himari backhanded her.

The slap lands hard, and Lisa staggers back, a hand to her cheek. Shock, anger, and something else—jealousy?—flicker across her face. She glances at Isamu, as if expecting him to defend her, but he's merely watching with an unreadable expression, the half-eaten cookie forgotten in his hand.

Lisa sputters, then clenches her fists.