The dining hall of the Draven family's private island villa was filled with the sound of clinking cutlery and the faint hum of cicadas outside. Warm lamps glowed against polished wood, casting soft golden shadows. For a while, it almost felt peaceful—until Lea set her spoon down, her movements unusually slow, as if weighed down by a secret she couldn't bear any longer.
"I'll be going back to the Redrich mansion," she said softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. But the silence that followed was deafening.
Hugo's hand, which had been cutting into a piece of grilled fish for her, froze midair. Across the table, Marina's eyes widened, the flicker of her spoon slipping and clinking against porcelain. Even Kael, usually composed even in the most explosive military briefings, blinked in disbelief, his fork halted midair.
The words hung heavy in the air.
"What… did you just say?" Marina leaned forward, her face tightening with worry. "Lea, you mean to say—you're leaving? Now?"
