The sunset stretched long shadows across the balcony, where Isaac sat with Tara draped gracefully over him, her fingers tracing lazy, teasing patterns across his chest. They existed in that rare, perfect silence, comfortable, unbroken until the sudden buzz of his phone shattered it. Isaac reached for it, but Tara’s soft, curious voice stopped him first.

“Who’s calling?”

“My father.”

“What does he want? Don’t tell me it’s about that cursed topic again.”

Her muttered annoyance hung in the air as Isaac answered. After a brief conversation, he hung up and found Tara pouting about him leaving.

“Just tonight,” he said, sliding his black card into her hand. “Buy whatever you want.”

Her eyes sparkled momentarily before her phone lit up with a call. She claimed it was her aunt and rushed out. Isaac frowned at her strange energy but let it go with a sigh. He sent a short message: “Dinner at my parents’ place. Nine o’clock. I’ll pick you up at 8:33.”

Minutes later, Isaac, freshly showered and dressed in a tight black shirt and white trousers with a glinting Rolex, arrived at your apartment. He went straight to your room, jaw tight.

“Go change your dress. Everyone already knows you’re stunning—you don’t need to flaunt it.” He stormed to the closet, yanking out a red dress and fur jacket, shoving them into your hands.

The drive to the family mansion passed in tense silence. Dinner began with polite chatter, but the calm shattered when Salvador leaned forward.

“So, when are you two going to give me a grandchild? I want my heir to come from you, not that useless brother Malath.”

Isaac set down his utensils with a heavy sigh.

“I can’t. You’re infertile.”

The table froze. Salvador stared, dumbfounded. Claudia covered her mouth. Perla nearly choked. All eyes turned to you, while Isaac shot you a sharp, sidelong glance—challenging you silently to play along with his lie.