Until Destiny Interfered

In the Process of Breaking Her...

The strange arrangement continued for several days...

each one dragging Ivanna deeper into a misery she never imagined possible.

She felt like she was slowly dying.

Her stomach constantly ached.

Her lips were dry.

Her body felt light, weak, hollow.

And worst of all...

she craved real food.

Hot food.

Cooked food.

Meals she had taken for granted her entire life.

Now?

She lived on fruits, bread, water... scraps.

Like a prisoner.

She couldn't even step outside her room without feeling her heart rattle with fear.

Between Lady Margaret's monstrous strength and that cold, merciless stare...

Ivanna's survival instincts screamed one truth:

Avoid her at all costs.

One wrong move and Margaret would break her like a twig.

By now, even Ivanna couldn't pretend not to see it.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Whatever her parents believed about Eugene...

Ivanna was convinced it was a lie.

He didn't love her.

He didn't want her.

He probably hated either her or her family deeply.

They had fallen into a trap.

A dangerous one.

And Ivanna...

spoiled, proud, pampered Ivanna...

was paying the price for their mistake.

But even in her despair, one instinct burned brighter than everything else:

Survive.

If her parents ever realized their error, if they ever came to rescue her...

she needed to still be alive when that day came.

The Sixth Day

Ivanna woke abruptly, her senses pierced by a sharp delicious aroma drifting into her room.

Chicken.

Spices.

Fresh bread.

Warm broth.

Her mouth watered instantly.

Her empty stomach cramped and twisted until she winced.

She couldn't resist.

She staggered out of bed and followed the scent like she was hypnotized.

In the kitchen stood Lady Margaret,

the towering, muscular terror, stirring pots and flipping pans like she was preparing a royal banquet.

Ivanna swallowed hard.

Forcing herself to act indifferent, she grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and escaped outside to the fountain, pretending she had come only for that.

She sat there, hugging the bottle, trying to calm her nerves as that heavenly scent tormented her.

Minutes passed.

Hours maybe.

Finally, she re-entered the house.

Lady Margaret had moved to the dining table...

and once again, an entire feast lay displayed in front of her.

Golden rice.

Grilled vegetables.

Crisp chicken.

Freshly baked rolls.

Steaming soups.

Ivanna couldn't look away this time.

She approached the table like someone walking toward salvation.

"I'm hungry," she said.

Silence.

"I said I'm hungry!" she insisted, louder.

Silence.

Her voice sharpened with desperation.

"Is Eugene aware you're starving me? Do you people want to kill me? Even kidnappers feed the person they kidnap! What is wrong with everyone in this cursed house? And why don't you ever say anything?! Are you mute too? This place is insane... all of you are insane!"

She turned to leave...

until Lady Margaret's voice floated behind her, calm and cold.

"I noticed you've been sleeping in different guest rooms instead of cleaning your own," she said.

"Today, you will clean your room."

Ivanna spun back, enraged.

"I will do no such thing! You can die if you want... cleaning is NOT my job! I said I won't do the chores of a maid!"

Margaret simply shrugged, unbothered.

Ivanna stormed down the hall, intending to hide in another room...

but when she tried the first door...

Locked.

She tried the second.

Locked.

Third.

Locked.

Every single guest room...

sealed shut.

Except hers.

Her filthy, smelly, disastrous room.

She stood frozen, fury burning hotter than her hunger.

Then she marched back to Margaret.

"What exactly are you doing?! Why did you lock all the rooms?!"

Margaret didn't even look up from her meal.

"Because that's not how humans live," she said simply.

"You cannot run from responsibility forever. Sooner or later, you will run out of rooms. And then what? Will you sleep outside? Clean your room."

Ivanna's voice cracked.

"Why are you doing this to me? First you starve me, now you lock me out of every room? How am I supposed to survive in that filthy room?! I can't clean it alone...this is wicked!"

Margaret raised a hand, silencing her.

"I am eating. I do not talk while eating. If you still haven't grasped the simple instructions I've given you, then kindly leave."

Ivanna stared at the dishes again,

her eyes burning with agony and humiliation.

"You're wicked," she whispered.

"You don't even need all this food. You're just doing this to hurt me."

Margaret smirked slightly and lifted a brow.

"Ivanna, stop acting like a spoiled child. You're not being punished, you're being trained. Once you learn how to behave, your life will return to perfection."

The softness in her voice, so unexpected, made Ivanna blink.

For the first time...

Margaret didn't seem like a monster.

Just... firm.

Strict.

And Ivanna, weakened and starving, finally began weighing her options.

She breathed out slowly and said in a small, careful voice:

"...If I learn how to cook... I won't starve anymore, right?"

"Yes."

That single word tasted like defeat, but Ivanna swallowed it anyway.

Survival first, everything else could wait.

Until she saw Eugene again, she would play along. She would endure.

She would live.

"Okay," she breathed, trying to keep her pride from shattering, "I'm willing to learn. Can you... teach me now?"

Lady Margaret nodded with a surprising calmness.

"After breakfast. Sit. Eat. Then I'll teach you how to prepare your lunch and dinner. Is that acceptable?"

Ivanna didn't even hear the rest.

Permission to eat, that was all she needed.

She dropped into the chair and began eating with a desperation she couldn't hide.

She devoured everything, gulping, shoving, tearing at the food as if someone would pull the plate away at any moment.

Lady Margaret watched, unimpressed, her brows tightening in quiet disapproval.

When Ivanna finished, she slumped back, breathless and overstuffed.

The moment her hunger disappeared... so did her interest in "learning."

She excused herself immediately, clutching her stomach dramatically, and returned to her room.

But the instant she stepped in, she froze.

The mess.

The chaos.

The smell.

Reality punched her in the face.

Still, she forced herself to start.

Clumsily. Angrily.

Every movement filled with resentment.

She bent to pick up a broken porcelain vase...

"Ah!"

The sharp edge sliced her finger, and she screamed, expecting someone to rush in.

Anyone.

But no one came.

The silence was worse than the pain.

Her eyes burned with frustrated tears as she shoved her wounded finger into her mouth and continued cleaning, slower this time, more careful.

Hours later, exhausted and shaking, she collapsed onto her newly cleared bed.

It wasn't perfect.

Not even close.

But it was clean enough to lie in.

For the first time since arriving, Ivanna slept soundly.

The Next Days

The routine repeated itself.

Eat.

Learn.

Clean.

Endure.

She had no choice.

When she entered the kitchen for her first cooking lesson, she coughed endlessly from the smoke.

Her eyes watered.

Her throat burned.

Her hair smelled like firewood.

But she learned.

Because learning meant eating.

And eating meant surviving.

Gradually, shockingly, she began to realize cooking wasn't as impossible as she thought.

Not with Lady Margaret guiding her step by step.

She also discovered that if she didn't scatter her belongings or create explosions of clothes in her room, cleaning wasn't nearly as hard.

The stress still pressed on her like a weight, but she finally stopped feeling like a prisoner.

Until the day she fell sick.

The fever struck like a slap.

Her head throbbed, her vision blurred, and her body heated like a furnace.

She lay on her bed, trembling.

Lady Margaret entered, saw her flushed face, and simply placed a bottle of medicine on the bedside table.

"Take this."

"That's all?!" Ivanna croaked. "I need a hospital! Call Eugene! Someone!"

Margaret walked away without a second glance.

The neglect stung more than the fever itself.

Ivanna felt small.

Invisible.

Disposable.

That was when the idea of escape began whispering in her mind.

For days she planned, imagining routes, timing movements, memorizing guard rotations.

Finally, her moment arrived.

Before dawn, the maids' transport van arrived as usual.

While they unloaded supplies, Ivanna slipped inside and hid behind stacked boxes, heart hammering like a drum.

The van moved.

It passed the inner gate.

The courtyard checkpoint.

Two guard stations.

No alarms.

She dared to hope.

But at the final gate, the largest, most fortified one, the van stopped.

A guard's voice thundered:

"Everyone, step out. Full inspection."

Ivanna's heart plummeted.

The guards searched the van ruthlessly, and seconds later...

"Found her."

Rough hands dragged Ivanna out kicking and screaming.

Humiliation burned her skin hotter than the fever.

She was dragged back to Lady Margaret, dumped at her feet like a captured animal.

Margaret didn't yell.

Didn't scold.

Didn't show anger.

"Outside," she said calmly.

Ivanna didn't understand, not until she was forced to kneel in the yard under the unforgiving sun.

Minutes passed.

Hours.

Her skin burned.

Her knees numb.

Her vision swam.

She truly thought she might die there.