AMY’S POVI knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the dining hall the next morning. The air felt heavier than usual, like the castle itself had grown suspicious of me. Shadows clung to the corners, and even the candles flickered in stiff, unnatural lines, as if trying to remain silent in Oliver’s presence.He sat at the head of the long black table—perfect posture, blank expression, fingers tapping against the carved wood as if he were counting the seconds until I walked in. The moment his eyes lifted to mine, my breath hitched. His gaze was sharp, unreadable, and far too intense.“Sit,” he commanded, his voice low, calm, but laced with something dangerous enough to make my heart jolt.I took a seat slowly, hands folded on my lap, trying not to show how nervous I was. The entire room felt colder, like every inch of space was tuned to his mood.He studied me in silence for several painfully long seconds.Then he spoke.“We need to establish new rules.”My stomach tightened
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