Ivana's POV
Two hours felt like two minutes.
I stayed upstairs, pacing back and forth in my room like a trapped animal. Every few steps, I'd stop, twist my fingers together, then start walking again. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears — loud, steady, impossible to ignore.
I kept telling myself to breathe, to calm down. You're strong. You can do this. Don't let them see you're scared.
But no matter how many times I whispered those words to myself, the knot in my stomach refused to loosen.
Then I heard it — voices drifting up from downstairs. The unmistakable sound of heels clicking against the marble floor. A powerful voice — sharp and commanding — echoed through the halls.
The Queen...
Her tone alone was enough to freeze me in place.
More voices followed — softer, more welcoming. Servants greeting them. Polite words like "Welcome home, Your Majesty," and "We've been expecting you."
I swallowed hard, stepping closer to the door.
Don't panic... don't panic...
But I could feel it building — that sick, twisting feeling in my chest. My legs felt like they didn't belong to me anymore, too weak to carry me if I tried to walk.
I took a deep breath and told myself I'd just wait upstairs. Maybe they wouldn't even notice I wasn't there.
Then I heard someone ask the question I'd been dreading.
"Where's Ivanna?"
I froze.
Oh no... Oh no no no...
They were asking about me.
Panic rushed in like a wave. I turned away from the door and started pacing again, gripping my hands tightly in front of me.
What do I do? What if they're furious that I'm hiding up here? What if they think I'm being disrespectful?
I tried to shake the thoughts away, but new ones kept piling on.
What if they hate me? What if this whole marriage was just some twisted plan to punish me for something my parents did? What if they only wanted me here so they could make my life even worse than it already is?
I stopped walking and pressed my fingers against my temples.
Calm down... Calm down... Remember, you're strong. You're bold... You can do this.
But the doubts kept creeping back in.
What if they're even worse than Darius? What if they've told him to treat me like this on purpose? What if... what if they didn't just want me to suffer — what if they wanted to break me completely?
That thought hit me like a punch to the chest, leaving me breathless.
No... No, I can't let that happen.
I walked to the mirror and stared at my reflection — the golden belt around my waist, the deep red of my dress, my hair still perfectly styled. I looked like a queen.
You've been through enough, I told myself. You won't let them crush you too.
I straightened my shoulders, forced my chin a little higher, and took a deep breath.
You're strong. You can do this.
But as I reached for the door handle, my hand trembled.
Just as I reached for the door handle, it swung open — fast and hard, nearly smacking me in the face.
Darius stood there, filling the doorway with that cold, arrogant expression that made my blood boil. His sharp eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, neither of us spoke.
"Ivanna," he said, voice low but firm. "Go downstairs. Now."
I clenched my fists at my sides. Of course. No please, no explanation — just another order barked at me like I was one of his servants.
"I'm not ready yet," I said stubbornly, lifting my chin.
"Yes, you are," he shot back. "Stop stalling."
"I'm not stalling," I snapped. "I just—"
"Don't start," he cut me off, stepping closer. His eyes narrowed, sharp and unforgiving. "My parents are asking for you. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
Harder? Like any of this had been easy.
"Why are you even so bothered?" I muttered, crossing my arms. "I doubt your parents are excited to see me anyway."
His expression hardened even more. "I don't care what you think. Just go downstairs. Now."
He turned to leave, but I couldn't let him win that easily.
"Why?" I challenged, stepping forward. "Why does it even matter if I show up?"
He stopped, shoulders tensing. "Because they're my parents," he said coldly, "and you're my wife. You're not embarrassing me today."
I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, Darius walked off, leaving me standing there — frustrated, angry... and suddenly very nervous.
You've got this, I told myself. You're strong. You can handle this.
But as I made my way downstairs, my confidence faded with each step. My heart pounded so hard I was sure they'd hear it before they saw me.
When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I spotted them instantly — his parents.
The Queen was seated on one of the cushioned chairs by the fireplace, her gown flowing like a pool of silk. She was elegant, with soft brown eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Her smile was warm — almost too warm — like she could tell how nervous I was and was trying to put me at ease.
The King, on the other hand...
He sat stiffly at the head of the dining table, his back straight, fingers laced together on the polished wood. His face was hard, cold, and unreadable. The lines on his forehead made him look like someone who always meant business — no patience, no warmth, no room for mistakes.
I swallowed hard. Great. Just great.
"There she is," the Queen said brightly, rising to her feet. "Ivanna, dear, come here."
I forced my legs to move, walking slowly toward her.
"You're just as lovely as I imagined," she said, reaching out to take my hands in hers. Her grip was warm, her smile genuine — and for a second, I didn't feel quite as nervous.
"Thank you, Your Grace," I managed, my voice softer than I intended.
"Oh, no need for all that," she said with a laugh. "Please, just call me Mother."
I stiffened. Mother? That felt... strange. Too familiar.
Before I could respond, Darius stepped into the room, and the warmth in the air vanished.
The King glanced up, barely sparing me a second look before turning his attention to his son.
"Did you handle it?" the King asked flatly.
"She's here, isn't she?" Darius replied.
The Queen shot her husband a sharp look — clearly not impressed with his coldness — but the King didn't seem to care.
"Well," the Queen said, clearing her throat, "let's eat, shall we?"
I tried not to look too relieved as I took my seat. For now, things seemed... manageable. The Queen seemed kind, and while the King clearly wasn't thrilled with m
y presence, at least he wasn't shouting or demanding anything — yet.