Victor waved his hand. "You can all leave now."


    The six housekeepers bowed and quietly filed out, leaving the room in sudden silence.


    Isadora couldn''t help herself. "Is everyone in the Fitzgerald family always this... old-fashioned?"


    She caught herself before saying "old-fashioned," and rephrased, "I mean, is this just how things are done here?"


    It wasn''t just the estate''s stately, imposing architecture; the entire atmosphere seemed steeped in tradition, every detail bound by unspoken rules.


    Isadora had only realized it after moving in yesterday.


    Here, the staff followed strict protocols, their every gesture deliberate and formal. Any little mistake, and they''d kneel or apologize as if their lives depended on it. Victor reached over, tucking a stray lock of her hair gently behind her ear. "The Fitzgerald Mansion has carried on these traditions for well over a century. Generations of the family have lived under this roof."


    He paused, his voice gentle. "Once we''re married, you can live wherever you want. And if you decide to stay here, you''re free to change anything you like, make it your own."


    "Why?" Isadora asked, searching his eyes.


    Victor''s gaze was unwavering, deep and sincere as he looked straight at her. "Because you''re going to be my wife. My home, my legacy-every right I have, I''ll share with you."


    Isadora looked into his fathomless eyes, her heart tangled with emotion.


    If Victor knew she was using him just to spite Deanna... surely he''d be disappointed.


    The thought made her lower her gaze, hershes trembling.


    A whileter, Isadora finished getting ready.


    She remembered she''d agreed to an exclusive interview with a journalist today.


    From the selection ofvish outfits that had just been brought in, she chose a white Chanel tweed dress-elegant, understated, and perfect for the asion.


    Victor took her hand and led her down the sweeping staircase.


    As they entered the dining room, her eyes were drawn to the centerpiece: a massive walnut table, its surface dark and polished to a mirror-like shine Alongside it stood vintage, deep brown leather chairs, and five or six impably trained staff waited discreetly nearby, ready to serve at a moment''s notice.


    At the head of the table sat Deanna, regal as ever in a deep plum silk gown that shimmered subtly beneath the chandelier''s glow. A string of luminous pearls graced her neck, and her silver hair was styled into a wless chignon.


    Though age had clouded her gaze, there was a sharpness in Deanna''s eyes as she looked at Isadora—a cold, piercing intensity that sent a chill down her spine.


    Seated on one side of the table was a middle-aged couple. The man wore a tailored, silver-gray suit that caught the light, while the woman was dressed in an opulent gown, her presencemanding and dignified.


    They were Deanna''s nephew and niece.


    Victor, still holding Isadora''s hand, strode over calmly and pulled out a chair for her, seating her at his side.


    At that moment, Virgil ck didn''t spare Isadora a nce. Instead, he offered Victor a genial smile. "Victor, it''s been ages. When we heard you were back, your aunt and I made it a point toe early this morning-to join you and Aunt Deanna for breakfast."


    The truth was, they''d both rushed over after receiving Deanna''s tearful call the night before.


    She''d imed Victor was rebelling, that he''d dragged some woman back to the Fitzgerald Mansion, ignored her objections, and even announced ns to marry


    her.


    The Fitzgerald Mansion wasn''t just a


    house-it was


    the heart of the


    Fitzgerald family''s legacy, passed down through generations. Even a girlfriend or fiancée didn''t have the


    right to move in. Only a woman with the title "Mrs. Fitzgerald" was ever truly weed here.


    By bringing Isadora into the mansion, Victor had shattered one of the Fitzgerald


    family''s most sacred traditions.