<h4>Chapter 93: First Enjoyable Dinner</h4>


    <strong><i>Meredith.</i></strong>


    Dinner was quiet.


    Too quiet.


    I sat in my usual seat at the long dining table, watching the subtle rise and fall of steam from my oxtail and butter bean stew. The aroma alone was heavenly—rich, savoury,yered with spices, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the atmosphere.


    Wanda sat across from me at the table, oddly silent. Her posture was stiff, her gaze lowered, and she chewed with mechanical precision, as though her mind was elsewhere.


    Not once did she attempt her usual res or half-hearted insults. Not once did she try to provoke me or look for something to say to Draven.


    Something was off.


    I nced sideways at Draven, catching only the hard line of his jaw as he cut into his meat. Calm. Controlled. But too still.


    My eyes returned to Wanda. She looked like someone who had been recently scolded.


    I don’t know what prompted it—curiosity or boldness—but I asked, softly, "Where’s Xamira?"


    My gaze was on no one in particr. But there was one person I hoped would answer me, and it was definitely not Wanda.


    Draven paused mid-cut. Then he set down his knife and fork and spoke evenly, "She won’t join us for meals anymore. Not until further notice."


    I blinked. "Why not? Did something happen?"


    It waster that I would realize that I had had a very short normal conversation with Draven over a meal


    Draven’s voice was level, but there was a coldness beneath the surface. "Because someone’s been feeding her lies, and I need to unteach what she’s learned before she turns into someone I don’t recognize."


    The words hit harder than I expected.


    He added, "From now on, only her nanny will be responsible for her. And no one—and I mean no one—is allowed to interfere with how I raise my daughter."


    I lowered my gaze to my te, but not before catching the way Wanda suddenly picked up her ss and drank all her wine in one go.


    Draven didn’t mention her name, but I didn’t need a prophecy to piece the puzzle together.


    Wanda had said something to Xamira.


    Something twisted enough to change the way that sweet girl saw me.


    Something strong enough to make her push me into the pool earlier today.


    I clenched my jaw. I had underestimated Wanda again and the lengths she could go to.


    Shortly, Wanda finally finished her food. She rose, adjusted her chair, and turned to Draven.


    "I will take my leave now. Good night, Alpha."


    He didn’t even look at her. "Good night."


    She walked out of the dining hall, and I watched her until she disappeared. That’s when I felt it—Draven’s gaze on me. I turned just in time to catch it. He didn’t look away.


    I did.


    I lowered my head and focused on the stew. The food was incredible—rich and hearty. The meat fell apart in my mouth, and the butter beans were soft and soaked in the broth’s vours. I kept eating slowly, intentionally.


    Two minutester, Jeffery stood up. "I will go check the patrols, Alpha."


    Draven gave a brief nod.


    Jeffery bowed slightly and left the hall.


    When I finally set my spoon down, my te was empty. Completely clean. I had finished everything on my te at the dining table for the first time since arriving here.


    Dennis noticed. "Look at you," he teased. "For the first time in history, you finished your food."


    Draven followed his remark with one of his own. "Seems like a near-death experience has made you appreciate life and food. No more eating like a bird."


    I narrowed my eyes at him. "And who told you this is my first time finishing my food?"


    I turned in my seat, catching Azul’s eye where she stood quietly with her hands sped. "Azul?" I asked sweetly. "Have I ever finished my meals before?"


    Azul smiled and bowed slightly. "Mydy eats well... when she’s alone."


    Dennis nodded. "Makes sense. You eat better in private."


    I sighed softly. That was true.


    After years of being judged, mocked—even at the dinner table—I had never been able to eatfortably around others.


    My family always looked at me like I didn’t deserve to be there, to eat their food, or to breathe their air.


    Even now, surrounded by people I was beginning to tolerate, my body still hesitated. Still remembered the shame.


    I wiped my mouth with the napkin. Just as I thought of standing, one of the servers returned with arge silver tray. He set down a beautiful white te with five elegant bite-sized desserts. A cup of hot tea was ced beside it.


    I blinked at the te.


    "What’s this?" I asked, pointing at the desserts.


    Before the server could respond, Dennis leaned forward and started listing them off like some proud chef.


    "Lemon tart, strawberry mille-feuille, pistachio cream square, chocte truffle... and that’s a lychee-zed shortbread."


    I raised a brow. "Are you secretly working in the kitchen?"


    He winked. "I eat enough to know."


    I picked up the pistachio square and took a small bite. It was rich, creamy, and perfectly sweet.


    I sipped my tea and sighed softly.


    "Don’t worry about belly fat, mydy," the server chimed in gently. "The tea is digestive. It will help process the sweets."


    I shook my head and took another bite of the tart. "I don’t care about belly fat. It’s not like I have anyone looking at me."


    I was still chewing when I realized the silence that followed.


    I looked up and caught Dennis looking right at me, his lips twitching.


    Draven’s gaze was also on me, unmoving.


    Dennis chuckled first. "Well, we are both looking."


    He gave a sly smile and added, "And once my brother starts teaching you how to swim, there won’t be any belly fat left to talk about."


    My face flushed.


    I reached for my tea and sipped slowly, trying to mask the flutter in my chest.


    He didn’t say it in a teasing tone. He said it as a matter of fact. Draven would probably drill the strength and skills out of me until I was good like him.


    And somehow, that made it worse.


    Or better. I didn’t know anymore.