OLIVIA’S POV

bI /bmade my way down to the dining hall, and the moment I stepped in, my jaw nearly hit the floor. The table way indeed long

But the length of the table wasn’t what held my attention.

My gaze locked onto the spread of food arranged in front of me like a royal banquet. There was everything literally everything. From spicy Medicin tacos and enchdas, to buttery croissants, Italian pasta in creamy sauces, fresh sushi rolls, roasted meats, and even traditional American pancakes stacked high like a tower. The air was rich with the aroma of spices, sauces, and freshly baked bread. I blinked a few times just to make sure I bwant /bimagining it.

Is this how they eat every day? I wondered, stunned. Because if it is, they must waste a ridiculous amount of food.

“Hi there. I like the outfit,” a voice said from behind, pulling me out of my trance.

I turned and saw Damian standing there with a small smirk on his lips. I had forgotten he came with us.

“Thank you,” I said, tugging at the edge of my loose blouse: “Well, technically… this is the only outfit that hides my baby bump,” I added with ba /bhalf-ugh.

He chuckled lightly. “You’re amazed by the food too, right?”

“Do they really cook like this all the time?” I asked, my eyes still fixed on the feast.

“I’ve been here a lot,” he said, stepping beside me. “And no. They definitely don’t go this crazy on a regr day. I think… It’s because of you. You’re here

now.”

My heart fluttered a little at his words. Me? Causing this? It was hard to imagine I had that kind of impact on anyone–let alone a whole household.

Just then, a door opened to my left. I turned and immediately lit up. Mom walked in, no longer in her hospital gown. She looked refreshed, her face brighter, and her posture stronger. They must have given her more medication–something to help with the pain–and she’d finally had time to rest. She looked like herself again.

“Mom!” I said, hurrying over to her. I wrapped my arms around her gently. “It’s good to see you recovering.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, brushing my hair behind my ear like she used to. “I’ve been through worse than this since the ‘70s.”

I pulled back slightly and looked at her, brows raised. “Wait… what?”

She just gave me a mysterious smirk, then walked off toward the table like she hadn’t just dropped a massive question mark into my mind. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or serious–but if she was serious… just how old was she, really?

Before I could ask, my father’s voice echoed through the room. “Is everyone ready to eat?”

He walked to the head of the table with thatmanding presence only powerful men seemed to carry so effortlessly. Even in his calmest tone, you felt

like you had to listen.

“Come on, let’s eat,” Mom said as she took her seat beside him.

I sat down next to her, while Damian and Julian took seats as well. I looked at the food again–steaming, colorful, inviting–and my stomach growled embarrassingly loud, betraying my hunger.

I reached out to grab a spoon, unable to wait any longer, but Julian caught my eye and gave me a subtle nod–one that clearly meant, Wait.

Confused, I paused, hand in midair. A hush fell over the table, and everyone seemed to be waiting for something.

bThen /bit hit me bwe /bbwere /bbin /bba /bdifferent kind of household now. One with traditions, Structure And apparently, stoma bm /bdi

bI /bblowered /bbmy /bhand slowly, heart thumping a bit.

bThen /bmy dad’s voice spoke out with calm authority, “Let us pray.” His deep tone cut gently through the room, and in bresponse /beveryone must joined hands. My mom reached out towards me, and I gently took it.

At that moment, I understood why Julian had given me that small shake of the head earlier when I was about to dive into the food. bHere/b, bthey /bprayed before meals—something I’d never really been ustomed to. My old life hadn’t exactly been built on traditions like these. My old family bback /bfrom, never really indulged in anything religious. But this? This felt different. It felt grounding, like I was slowly bing part of something bI’d /bmissed all my life.

“Dear Father,” my dad began, his eyes closed, his voice steady and reverent, “bless this meal, and as we gather today, bless this gathering. Amen.”

A chorus of soft “Amen” followed, and everyone opened their eyes. Julian gave me a warm smile and handed me the spoon he had earlier prevented me from grabbing. This time, it felt right to eat.

I didn’t waste a second. I reached for the chicken curry and rice. The aroma had been torturing me since I got to the table. The first spoonful was heavenly–vorful, warm, andforting in a way I hadn’t felt in years. My hand moved quickly, scooping more onto my te. I barely noticed the amused nces around me.

“Slow down, mijo, there’s enough,” my mom said, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and concern as she watched me devour the food.

But my dad raised a hand slightly, silently telling her to let me be.

I wasn’t just eating–I was filling in days of emptiness. Food had never tasted like this when I was lonely or sad. But nowi? /iSurrounded by the people who were slowly piecing my life back together, every bite felt likefort, like healing. I didn’t stop until I had eaten four full tes–each dish different, each one delicious. Itáliansagna, Mexican tamales, grilled American steak, and of course, the chicken curry that started it all.

Finally, with a satisfied sigh, I leaned back in my chair, my stomach full and my heart strangely light. The vors lingered on my tongue, and I let myself smile–really smile, not a polite one, but a full, happy grin.

“I hope you like it,” my dad said, his eyes watching me with such softness that it made my throat tighten.

I nodded enthusiastically. “It was amazing,” I said, barely able to form more words around the happiness swelling inside me.

For a fleeting moment, I felt like a child again, safe and loved, surrounded by my family

As the others finished their meals, the maids silently began clearing the table with practiced efficiency. The clinking of dishes and the soft rustle of their uniforms filled the space as my dad straightened in his chair, his face shifting into a more serious expression.

“Now that everyone is full,” he said, his tone firm but not cold, “we talk.”

I immediately nced at my mom. My heart began to pound harder.

Was I really about to tell him everything? That it was my ex–husband who had tried ito /ikill me? That he didn’t just try to destroy me, but had almost seeded in hurting Julian and my mom too? The thought made my stomach churn, even with all the delicious food still settling inside me.