DAYS AFTER
Isabelle’s POV
There was something oddly vulnerable about standing in front of a mirror, half-dressed and alone.
No press. No Stephanie.
No war to fight.
Just me. And the woman I hadn’t seen clearly in years.
I reached for the lipstick on the edge of my vanity table and hesitated.
Red?
It felt too bold. Too loud. Like a statement I wasn’t sure I wanted to make tonight.
Still, I applied it slowly, watching as it framed my face in a way that almost made me feel like a stranger. The dress was custom—black silk, sculpted but soft. It wasn’t armor like the suits I wore into boardrooms. It wasn’t a weapon like the heels I wore into court.
It was elegant. Honest.
A reminder that I could exist for myself now.
And not in reaction to someone else’s betrayal.
I turned slightly
