Isabel’s POV
The tension between us thickens, a silent, charged moment stretching as Cynthia’s hand hovers midair. The way her eyes burn into mine, full of frustration and humiliation, is almost enough to make me laugh. Almost.
But I know her too well—this isn’t just anger. It’s desperation. She’s cornered, her reputation slipping through her fingers like water, and she’ll grasp at anything to pull me down with her.
I leave my hand extended for a beat longer, just long enough for the crowd to notice, enough for the cameras to snap their damning shots. And then I let my arm fall, stepping back.
Her sharp intake of breath is satisfying—almost.
She clenches her jaw, fury flashing in her eyes. Before her hand can reach mine, I take a deliberate step back, letting my arm drop to my side. H
