Isabella’s POV
Cleo moved. Fast.
She stood so quickly her chair screeched back on the marble floor, making me flinch despite myself.
She leaned over the table, bracing her manicured hands on the surface, her face inches from mine.
"You think you’ve won something, don’t you?" she hissed, her voice low and trembling with fury.
I leaned back leisurely in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, meeting her glare head-on.
"You’re nothing special," she spat. "Damien's just... using you. He’ll get bored. He always gets bored. And when he does, he’ll come crawling back to me."
I smiled sweetly, tipping my head slightly like I was considering her words.
Then, with a voice as sweet as poisoned honey, I said, "If you were so special, he wouldn’t have left you in the first place."
Cleo blin
