I S A B E L L A
"You think you have Angelo wrapped around your little finger, don't you?" she taunts, her eyes flashing with jealousy. "You think just because you're married to him, you matter? That you're important?"
Her words sting, but instead of shrinking under her glare, I find myself growing stronger, more resolute. I straighten my posture, crossing my arms as I look her directly in the eye.
"You might be married to him," Francesca sneers, "but he will never, ever love you. He will never want you."
Her words hang in the air, venomous and cruel, but instead of letting them wound me, I begin to understand. The way she looks at him, the anger, the bitterness—it all clicks into place.
I tilt my head, studying her for a moment before I speak. "I've also seen the way you look at him."
