The Rolls-Royce slid through the streets of Paris with the elegance of a predator. Inside, Isla Brown kicked off her diamond-studded heels, stretching her legs across the plush leather seat. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen.
Mom.
She rolled her eyes before declining the call.
The moment she stepped into the car, she had felt it—the weight of Isabella Richard’s gaze following her, calculating, dissecting, planning. Isla wasn’t naïve. Women like Isabella didn’t make casual conversation in luxury boutiques for fun. They hunted. And Isla had just been marked.
The question was: for what?
The answer came sooner than expected.
Her chauffeur’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Miss Brown, we have a request from Isabella Richard’s assistant.
A private dinner invitation at
