Isabella’s room in the penthouse was steeped in elegance, a blend of ivory walls and rose-gold accents. Heavy drapes concealed the falling dusk, casting the space in a seductive, amber glow. The scent of imported roses wafted through the air as she sat in her silk robe, legs crossed gracefully, sipping from a crystal glass of wine.
Isla leaned against the vanity, clad in a tight black mini-dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her lips curled into a smirk as she examined her reflection, then turned toward Isabella with a glint in her eye.
“You should have seen the way he looked at me,” Isla said, running a finger along the rim of a wineglass she hadn’t touched. “His eyes were practically begging, ma’am. And when I dropped to my knees, he didn’t stop me. He wanted it.”
Isabe
