She truly cared for Silas and his mother. Eamon Baker’s protection had saved Silas; otherwise, he would have been lost. Oliver, however, was a shameless jerk. He had previously tried to destroy Silas, yet now, seeing some potential use, he slithered back as if nothing had happened. What a joke. He was delusional if he thought he could simply waltz in and get what he wanted. She would deal with him if he dared to appear. She wouldn't let the man she cared for come to harm. Not a chance.

"You know, Callie, you're wonderful. Silas's mother would have adored you," someone said.

"She always wanted a daughter," Silas replied, his gaze dark and inscrutable.

Calliope nodded. "I saw pictures of her. I liked her too. She was a real knockout."

In the next room, Oliver was doubled over in pain. The injury inflicted upon him had torn his muscles, driving him nearly mad. He glared at his bodyguards.

“A bunch of idiots! Did I tell you to dance? I'm in agony, probably cursed, and you're all shaking your butts like it's prom night?” he roared. "Morons! Absolute morons!"

His cursing offered no relief, especially with his throbbing legs. He burned with fury, wanting to tear Calliope apart. Then he recalled her warning: without the antidote, the dancing would continue.

He didn't know if she was bluffing, but his body's erratic state terrified him. He glanced at his bodyguards; they’d overheard Calliope as well. One hesitantly spoke, "Um, Ms. White mentioned chocolate-covered raisins in her room. Should I ask for some?"

Oliver’s face paled. When he remained silent, the bodyguard shrugged and went to retrieve the "chocolate raisins."

Blythe eyed the bodyguard suspiciously upon his return. "Why are you looking for chocolate raisins here?" She was incredulous; she'd been agonizing over the very idea, and now someone was actually requesting them.

"They're useful," the bodyguard replied bluntly.

Blythe rolled her eyes. "Help yourself. There's a ton in there." She was genuinely impressed—if that's the word. The bodyguard scooped up a handful of "chocolate raisins."

"Just take them away, seriously," Blythe said, disgusted.

Meanwhile, Portia and Mavis, privy to the "chocolate raisin" secret, joined Calliope at Oliver's door, brimming with curiosity. The three women hovered, wondering if Oliver would actually consume the rabbit droppings. Calliope had another reason for being there; if he ate them, she planned to reveal their uselessness—to make sure he never forgot it.

They watched as the bodyguard presented Oliver with the "chocolate raisins." Oliver stared at the rabbit droppings, his expression conflicted. "Do I really have to eat this?" He looked ill.

"You have to, sir," the bodyguard insisted. "It's for your own good. What if you lose control again?"

That twisted logic made a kind of sense. But still, it was rabbit poop! He thought of Calliope’s smug face and a fresh wave of rage washed over him. He wanted to wring her neck.