UNRAVELING
Ivanna returned to her room with her mind spinning.
That look the prince had given her, so unsettling, so piercing, kept replaying in her head.
Why? Why would he stare at her that way? She was certain she had never met him before. She hadn't offended anyone of his status in her life. So why did it feel as though he was looking directly into her soul?
The unease began gnawing at her.
More than ever, she felt the desperate urge to contact her parents, immediately, at all cost.
Hours passed.
Ivanna refused to leave her room. She refused to eat. She refused to entertain anything connected to the palace. The more she thought, the angrier she became, and the more determined she was to shut the world out.
But the next morning, something felt off.
By the time dawn broke, Ivanna was drained, emotionally hollow, physically weak, and mentally exhausted.
Yet something felt different.
Very different.
Silence… deeper than before.
Too deep.
No footsteps in the hall.
No soft knocks.
No maids whispering outside her door, waiting for her wrath to descend.
Nothing.
No one came to check on her, not even the maids who normally stopped by to clean, bring food, or hover nervously around her demands.
The silence was… unnatural.
Unsettling.
Her room remained a mess from the night before, clothes scattered, sheets disheveled, and the sight only infuriated her further.
"These useless maids…" she hissed.
"They dare ignore me?"
Ivanna sat up slowly, her eyes scanning the chaotic mess of her room, the unmade bed, clothes thrown everywhere, food she refused to touch.
Normally, such disorder would disgust her.
But today… it chilled her instead.
"Where are those stupid maids?" she muttered.
Her voice sounded small in the eerie quiet.
Driven by annoyance with determination to give them a piece of her mind, she stormed out of her room.
…and stopped.
Because... the moment she stepped into the hallway, her irritation slowly shifted into confusion.
The villa felt… abandoned.
As though life had been drained out of it overnight.
She moved down the long hallway cautiously, a strange unease settling into her bones. Every step echoed too loudly against marble floors that should've been bustling with activity.
That was when she finally saw someone.
A lone figure seated near the living room corridor, a massive newspaper held up, covering their face.
For a moment, Ivanna felt relief, finally, someone to yell at.
"Excuse me!" she snapped. "Who are you, and where are the maids? Why is this place so deserted?"
The newspaper lowered, slowly.
Ivanna froze.
The woman behind it was no ordinary woman.
She was tall, towering, too tall for a woman, almost unnaturally so. Broad-shouldered. Strong-jawed. She should be in her mid-forties, built with the kind of musculature that came from years of discipline and training. Her aura felt like steel wrapped in silence.
For the first time in a long time, Ivanna felt genuinely… intimidated.
The woman's eyes held hers without blinking.
"And who," Ivanna whispered, "are you?"
The stranger crossed her legs with calm elegance, her posture poised and powerful.
"You must be Ivanna," she said, studying her like a puzzle.
"I am Lady Margaret. I'm the one in charge of this house now."
Ivanna's anger flared back to life.
"In charge of the house now? What does that even mean?"
"It means exactly what I said." Lady Margaret offered a cool smile.
"And since you will be staying here, you must obey the new rules. Rule number one: there are no maids. Which means you will make your own bed, cook your own meals, and carry out all basic cleaning duties."
Rules?
HER?
Ivanna's eyebrows flew up in disbelief.
Ivanna choked on her own breath.
"What?!"
Then louder, more furious,
"And who is the mad dog that came up with such a ridiculous rule?! Me? Doing chores? How absurd! And before anything else, who do you even think you are? And where is that son of a…Eugene or whatever his name is?! He needs to come out here right now or he'll regret ever—"
Lady Margaret simply smiled.
A calm, dangerous smile.
"Rule number two," she said softly, "you do not use foul language here… and you never—ever—raise your voice."
Ivanna's anger surged so violently that she didn't even think…
she simply moved.
She stormed toward Lady Margaret, arm raised, ready to deliver a vicious slap across that infuriatingly calm face.
But she never made contact.
A hand, large, calloused, and impossibly fast, caught her wrist mid-air.
The grip was iron.
Ivanna gasped, her eyes widening as she tried to yank her hand free.
She twisted, pulled, jerked…
but it was like trying to move a mountain.
Lady Margaret didn't even blink.
She simply looked at Ivanna with a lazy, unimpressed expression.
"Rule number three," she said, her voice disturbingly soft,
"you never raise your hand to strike anyone here. And if you ever attempt to hit me again… you may not live to see the next day."
Those words, calm, measured, deadly, sent cold terror shooting down Ivanna's spine.
That was when Ivanna realized something horrifying:
Margaret wasn't even trying.
No effort, no strain, no shift of muscle.
And yet Ivanna's wrist felt like it was about to snap in two.
A sharp pain exploded through her arm.
Sweat gathered instantly across her forehead as panic overtook her anger.
Then…
as casually as someone flicking away dust…
Lady Margaret released her, sending her stumbling back a few steps like discarded trash.
Humiliation washed over Ivanna in a wave so hot it burned.
Never in her entire life had anyone…anyone…handled her like that.
Not even her strictest teachers dared to touch her.
She was Ivanna Sean.
Spoiled. Revered. Untouchable.
And this… this brute had tossed her like she was nothing.
Rage blinded her.
Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest object…a flower vase, heavy and expensive-looking…from the decorative stand.
"If you want war," she hissed, "I'll gladly…"
The sound of something slicing the air made her freeze.
Lady Margaret stood holding a long, thick whip…where it came from, Ivanna didn't know.
But the cold fury in her eyes said everything.
"Rule number four," she said, her tone icy and emotionless,
"for every object you break, you will receive ten lashes."
Ivanna's jaw hung open.
"Wh-what? Who will flog me? You?" Her voice cracked with disbelief.
"This…this is insane! You're all lunatics! If Eugene is behind this madness, then someone should tell him he can forget about the marriage! I would rather die than marry a devil like him!"
Spitting fire, she stormed back to her room.
But the moment she stepped inside, the chaotic mess suffocated her.
Clothes everywhere.
Sheets tangles.
Her own scent of misery lingering in the air.
She couldn't breathe.
She fled to the next room over, collapsed on the bed, and finally…
broke.
Tears spilled fast, hot, uncontrollable.
Her pride shattered.
Her certainty dissolved.
Her world…one that used to revolve around luxury and parental affection…was crumbling beneath her feet.
How did it come to this?
How did she fall from grace to dirt so quickly?
She cried until her body trembled and her throat ached.
She screamed for her parents silently, over and over in her mind, wishing they would burst through the door and take her home.
But no one came.
Not that day.
Not the next.
By the third day, hunger clawed at her insides like a beast, dizzy spells hit her every few minutes, and she felt on the verge of fainting.
She had to eat something.
Anything.
So she dragged herself out of the room and down the silent hallway once again.
The villa was still empty of life.
Still far too quiet.
She headed to the dining room…
…and froze.
Lady Margaret sat at the head of the long dining table, silently eating a feast fit for royalty.
Rice, meats, fruits, soups…steaming, fragrant, abundant.
Ivanna's stomach growled so loudly she winced.
Margaret didn't even glance at her.
"Where… is my food?" Ivanna asked, voice hoarse.
Only then did Margaret turn her head, raising a brow.
"Are you truly this rude, or are you simply lacking brain cells?" she asked calmly.
"I told you yesterday…there is no one here for you to order around. When you're hungry, you cook your own food."
Ivanna looked at the feast again, desperate and close to tears.
"I… I don't know my way around the kitchen," she admitted in a trembling whisper she hardly recognized as her own.
"That can be fixed," Margaret replied, taking another bite.
"Today, you will begin learning to cook your own meals."
Ivanna stared at her in disbelief.
"Are you even listening to yourself? I have to learn to cook before I can eat? What kind of twisted place is this?!"
Whirling around, she stormed off…
but this time, there was no strength in her anger.
Only exhaustion.
In the kitchen, she found fresh fruits on the counter and various ingredients in the fridge.
She gathered what she could…bread, water, a few fruits, some basic snacks…and dragged herself back toward her room.
Her stomach still growled, her pride remained bruised, but at least she wouldn't collapse from hunger.
For now.