Isabel’s POV
As I step back into the restaurant, I force myself to focus on my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Calm, steady, controlled.
My fingers twitch at my sides, desperate to clench into fists again, but I smooth them down my dress instead, willing myself to keep it together. I won’t give Cynthia the satisfaction of knowing she got to me. But my fury burns hot and sharp as my eyes land on Alexander.
Our gazes lock, and the air feels heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name. His face is calm—too calm—but there’s something in his eyes. A flicker of uncertainty, maybe even guilt, crosses his face, as if he’s caught in the web of his own mind.
My heart pounds, my anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface.
For a fleeting moment, I want to march
