He doesn’t love anyone. He only owns them.

No canvas. No privacy. No lock I controlled.

Valentina stops. She takes the message. The servant releases it into her hand. She unfolds the paper.瓦伦蒂娜停下了脚步。她接过那张纸条。仆人把它放进了她的手里。她展开了那张纸。 ON PAPER:  纸面上：Come now. I may not survive the day. —Father.

Dante crooks one finger. The servant approaches, opens a blank message card on the table, and begins writing. The card stays angled away, unreadable.

You’ve heard his version.

Tonight, our families restore what scandal tried to break. Valentina and Rafael will secure this alliance.

Silence will do.

Don’t wait for me anymore.

Tell me this is what you want.

Report to the outer perimeter. Now.

They are not just hiding him. They are studying us.

Restoration billing is there. Only billing.

That section is sealed. You were sent for billing.

Valentina enters holding a restoration invoice.

Lina! Respond to me.  莉娜！快回复我。

Let him leave. Let him breathe. Then follow.

Under cover of adjusting her linen napkin, Valentina’s hand drops beneath the tablecloth. Deftly and quickly, she unbuttons Adrian’s formal trousers, sliding her warm hand under his waistband, pressing her bare skin directly against his sensitive pelvic skin with firm, rhythmic pressure.

Adrian folds the note once and slides it inside his jacket. With his other hand, he takes a plain studio-schedule page from a hallway console and places it on the tray where Mara’s note was.

One crack in the story. One crack I can't touch.

The room stopped him.

He didn’t just pull me away. He made Rafael wait.

Everyone else looks afraid. He looks ready.

She loves Dominic.

AMELIAI didn't leak that document.

Five minutes. Let me explain.

Dominic reaches back and pushes his empty chair flush against the table without sitting. The untouched plate remains above it.  Dominic turns toward the open exit, his back to Amelia, his body already moving to leave. Amelia stands motionless behind the untouched dinner.

I left dinner untouched once. Now he’s doing it to me.

I went into the study, but—

Dominic looks from the copy to the empty chair across from him. His jaw locks.

He taps print. The printer’s mechanical whir and clicking feed punctuate the silence as a copy slides out. Dominic takes it and lays it face-up on his desk. Its text and document image remain unreadable.

Then stop breathing and hold on to me.

His suspicion should hurt. His disappointment hurts worse.

You won't even look at me now.

Dominic unties the silk restraints, freeing her. Amelia retreats to the bed edge, her hands trembling as she smooths her unzipped skirt and adjusts her clothes, trying to find her breath. Dominic steps away, calmly buttoning his shirt cuffs and adjusting his collar, his expression turning cold and detached.

The phone vibrates in his hand, glowing with Cyrus Vale's caller ID. Dominic presses the side button, silencing the call, and places the phone face down on the bedside table. He shuts the heavy bedroom door, cutting off the corridor light and leaving them in the dim private room.多米尼克跟在阿梅莉亚身后走进卧室。他手里的手机震动起来，屏幕上显示着赛勒斯·韦尔的来电显示。多米尼克按下侧边按钮，将来电静音，然后把手机屏幕朝下放在床头柜上。

My skin remembers his hands. Every touch under the table, every breath in the car. It never really washes off.

Ellen retreats to the open doorway, her hands empty, leaving the serving dish and spoon untouched on the dining table. Her eyes track their hands above the table: Amelia's white-knuckled grip on her fork, and Dominic's hand resting flat on the mahogany, angled towards her side. Ellen lowers her head like a servant who has seen too much under-the-surface behavior, while beneath the mahogany, Dominic's warm thumb maintains its heavy pressure over Amelia's damp underwear.

Amelia desperately spoons a small portion of food onto her plate to maintain her facade under Ellen's watchful eye. But the slight hip shift lets Dominic execute his physical claim: beneath the mahogany dining table, his hand slides high under her silk skirt, his palm cupping her bare hip while his thumb presses firmly through her damp silk underwear directly over her vulva, forcing her pelvis down against his hard knee. Amelia’s spine arches rigidly, her eyes locking with his in a breathless plea. Ellen steps closer, her fingers operating inches from Amelia's frozen, trembling shoulders as she adjusts a side plate.

Under the table, Dominic’s fingers slide up her bare inner thigh beneath her silk skirt, his grip firm and proprietary. Above, his face remains a stoic, unreadable mask. Near the door frame, Ellen watches their stiff posture, her gaze tracking their hands.

Dominic pulls his hand back above the table and slides the dish closer, a cold command for her to receive it. But beneath the heavy wood, his other hand drops. His palm slides slowly up her calf to her knee, parting her thighs.