Falcon joined them at breakfast.
He took the seat directly opposite Isabella.
The dining hall was vast — high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, long polished table stretching beneath portraits of past Montgomery rulers. Morning light filtered through tall windows, pale and cold, illuminating silver cutlery and untouched tension.
No one spoke.
Only the soft clink of porcelain against china broke the silence.
Isabella kept glancing at him — not openly, but often. Studying him. Questioning him. Challenging him without words.
Falcon ignored it.
Oliver and Isabella ate carefully at first, restrained by the weight of the room. But hunger betrayed them. It had been a long time since either had tasted food this rich, this abundant. They tried to remain composed, but their plates emptied quickly.
Alexander noticed.
His jaw tightened as he watched them.
Who do they think they are?
Walking in here. Sitting at this table.
Martha had refused to attend. Her absence hung like a statement.
Terrence finished first. He set his napkin down with precision, stood, stretched his shoulders, and before leaving, motioned subtly to a nearby maid.
He leaned close. Whispered something.
The maid nodded.
Terrence walked out without another word.
One by one, the others began to leave.
Falcon had barely touched his plate.
He wasn't hungry.
He never ate comfortably in rooms where people measured him.
Oliver rose first. "Excuse us."
Isabella followed.
They left together.
Moments later, the same maid Terrence had spoken to approached Isabella near the doorway. She bent close, murmuring something into her ear.
Isabella's brows furrowed briefly.
"I'll be right back," she told Oliver.
He nodded.
She followed the maid down a separate corridor.
Falcon noticed.
He stood slowly.
Lucas caught up with him before he reached the doors.
"Leaving already?" Lucas asked lightly. "You hardly touched your meal."
Falcon glanced at him.
Lucas studied his face, then offered a small, easy smile. "No need for the ice walls. Want company?"
Falcon was about to respond when a hand gripped Lucas's wrist.
Alexander.
"Why are you following him?" Alexander demanded, voice low but sharp. "You should despise him more than anyone."
Lucas stiffened. "Alex—"
"Father barely acknowledges you," Alexander continued, anger surfacing. "You're the first son of this family. And yet the attention, the praise — all of it goes to him."
His eyes flicked to Falcon.
"He's not blood."
The air tightened.
Lucas pulled his arm free. "This isn't the place."
Falcon spoke before the tension could escalate.
"I see you're occupied," he said calmly. "Continue."
He turned and walked away.
Behind him, voices lowered but didn't disappear.
As he moved down the corridor, his expression shifted slightly — thoughtful, colder.
Of course that thought never escaped me.
Lucas should resent me.
The attention. The trust. The approval that wasn't meant for me.
Why doesn't he?
Is he watching me closely… waiting for weakness?
In this house, kindness was rarely without motive.
Falcon reached the guest wing.
He knocked once — controlled, deliberate.
The door opened a few seconds later.
Oliver stood there.
His eyes widened slightly.
"It's you."
"Who is it?" their mother's weak voice came from inside.
Oliver stepped aside. "It's Falcon… Isabella's fiancé."
The word sounded strange in the quiet room.
Falcon stepped in.
The curtains were partially drawn. Sunlight spilled softly across the bed where their mother lay propped against pillows, pale but conscious.
She tried to sit up.
Falcon raised a hand gently.
"Please. Don't strain yourself."
She studied him carefully instead.
Up close.
Assessing.
So this is the man my daughter is being bound to.
A faint, tired smile formed on her lips.
"I wanted to see you properly," she said. "A mother should look at the man who will stand beside her daughter."
Falcon didn't shift under her gaze.
"I hope," she continued softly, "you will protect Isabella… better than I could."
Oliver looked away slightly.
Falcon's voice was steady when he answered.
"She will not be harmed."
It wasn't emotional.
It wasn't tender.
It was a promise.
The kind that sounded less like reassurance and more like a warning to anyone who dared test it.
Their mother watched him for a long moment before finally saying "Thank you"
Perhaps she sensed it — the danger in him.
And the protection.
In this family, those two things were often the same.
Falcon inclined his head, a faint, restrained smile touching his lips. It wasn't joy — it was relief. The kind that comes when a storm pauses, not when it ends.
Across the room, Oliver's knuckles had gone white from how tightly he'd been clenching his fists. The tension in him had been building like a dam on the verge of collapse — and it finally broke.
"Tell me, Mr. Falcon," he demanded, his voice sharp and shaking at once, "why does my sister have to marry you?"
"Oliver…" their mother breathed weakly from the bed, her voice no more than a thread.
But he didn't stop.
"We were told just last night that we're the children of the Montgomery family," he went on, eyes blazing. "Dragged into this mansion without warning. Surrounded by people who look at us like we're filth. And now Isabella is supposed to marry a man she just met?" His chest rose and fell violently. "None of this makes sense!"
Falcon said nothing.
Because he couldn't.
Because there was nothing to say.
He had learned the truth the same day they had. He was as much a piece on this board as they were.
His silence only fueled Oliver's fury.
In two strides, Oliver closed the distance and seized Falcon by the collar, fabric twisting under his grip.
"Answer me!" he barked. "Why does my sister have to suffer for this? So you can secure your position as a Montgomery? Is that it?"
The mother forced herself upright despite the pain shooting through her frail body. "Oliver, don't—" She broke into a violent coughing fit, her body trembling.
The sound shattered something in him.
He released Falcon immediately and rushed back to the bedside. "Mother! Are you alright?"
She grasped his hands with surprising strength. "Oliver… you promised me," she whispered between breaths. "You said you would accept this… so we could live better. For Isabella's sake… please."
His anger cracked.
Tears welled in his eyes, though he fought them desperately. He lowered his head, shoulders trembling, then looked up at Falcon — not with rage this time, but shame.
"I'm sorry," he muttered hoarsely. "I shouldn't have grabbed you. I know this must be as confusing for you as it is for us." His jaw tightened. "It's just… Isabella is so young. And those people downstairs… they look like they could kill us without blinking."
His voice broke.
He turned away, rubbing at his face in frustration, ashamed of the tears that escaped anyway.
Falcon moved forward slowly, deliberately — as if approaching a wounded animal. He placed a firm, steady hand on Oliver's back.
"You don't need to be afraid," Falcon said quietly, but there was steel beneath his calm. "Your father made one thing clear to me. I am to protect your mother. You. And Isabella."
There was no hesitation in his tone.
No mockery.
No arrogance.
Just resolve.
Oliver's composure collapsed completely. He covered his face and cried — not loudly, not dramatically, but like someone who had been holding everything in for too long.
Falcon did not remove his hand.
Later, they stood outside the room.
Oliver bowed repeatedly, almost desperately. "I'm sorry. For everything. Even the crying." He forced a weak smile. "I'm a Montgomery now. I shouldn't let anyone see me break like that."
"It's fine," Falcon replied evenly.
Oliver straightened, looking at him more carefully this time. "I also called you a stranger to Isabella," he admitted. "That wasn't fair." He hesitated. "She told me what you did for her the other night. Thank you… for helping her."
Falcon gave a small nod.
Then something cold slid into his thoughts.
He frowned slightly.
"Where is Isabella?"
"Oh." Oliver blinked. "After breakfast, a maid came. Said someone requested to see her."
Falcon's gaze sharpened instantly. "Who?"
"Terrence."
The name hit like a spark in dry grass.
Falcon didn't wait for another word.
He was already moving — boots striking marble with urgent precision, coat sweeping behind him like a shadow in pursuit of something inevitable.
Terrence's steps were deliberate, heavy with intent, as he stormed down the corridor. He didn't pause at the door—no knocks, no hesitation—just a swift, brutal kick that sent it flying open.
Inside, Isabella struggled, tears streaking her face, a cloth gag over her mouth and her hands bound above her head, her clothes were torn and she lay there half naked. Terrence was all over her, trying to intimidate her, his posture menacing as he asserted control, making it clear she was at his mercy.
The sudden crash of the door made him whip around—and there, framed in the doorway, stood Falcon, eyes cold and unyielding.
Terrence's smirk faltered for the briefest moment. "Damn… I was just getting started," he sneered,sliding off the bed with a predatory ease, his eyes still locked on her as he straightened, radiating arrogance and menace.
His gaze locked on Falcon. He straightened, hands on his hips. "Come on then… hit me already."
Falcon moved like a shadow he didn't hesitate, closing the distance in an instant. His fist connected with Terrence's jaw with brutal precision, sending him sprawling across the floor. Falcon's gaze burned into him, icy and unyielding.
"I held back because you're the elder's son," Falcon said, his voice low and deadly. "But make no mistake—she is not one of the maids in this house. I will not allow anyone to touch her."
Without another word, he turned his focus to Isabella, swiftly untying her bound hands, his movements sharp, efficient, and protective.
Terrence lay sprawled on the floor, a twisted grin spreading across his face.
"Damn it, Falcon… you always ruin the fun."
Falcon ignored him, focused entirely on freeing Isabella.
Enraged, Terrence snatched a nearby bottle and swung it with deadly intent, smashing it against Falcon's head. Falcon staggered to one knee, the sting sharp, but his eyes never left Isabella.
Her cries pierced the room, raw and terrified.
Terrence cracked his head slightly
"You're one lucky man falcon" He sneered then continued.
"I haven't even completely tasted her until you walked in" He made a whistle sound.
"And darm she tastes so good her scream really turns me on. She tastes like no other girl I've fu*ked so far, she's a woman that girl .. And no maid in this house can compare."
Then an evil grin crept on his face "Did you think I don't know who that bitch is..I know she's the one king hired to fu*k around with his men it seems she didn't do her job that night so I'm just doing it for them."
Falcon pushed himself upright, eyes locked on Terrence with icy calm. "I said it once, and I'll say it again—she's not for comparison. No one, and nothing, comes close."
Terrence sneered and lunged, but Falcon moved with lethal precision, sidestepping him effortlessly. In a swift, fluid motion, he struck Terrence across the neck, and the man crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
Falcon didn't waste a second. He moved to Isabella, cutting the bindings with expert hands. When she stumbled free, she clung to him, gripping his coat tightly. "I… I was so scared," she whispered, trembling. "I thought…"
Falcon placed a steady hand on her head, his voice calm but firm. "It's over. I'm here now. You're safe."
Her relief was overwhelming, and before she could say more, the exhaustion from fear and stress overtook her. She slumped against him, unconscious. Falcon's grip didn't falter; he lifted her gently, one arm supporting her while keeping a protective hand on his weapon.
He cast one last glance at Terrence's motionless form on the floor—a silent promise that any threat to her would be dealt with swiftly—and stepped out of the room, moving with the controlled grace of a predator who had just ensured the safety of what mattered most.