MAXWELL’S POV
The silence in the ballroom was absolute. Five hundred of New York’s most powerful people were holding their breath, waiting to see if the girl from Queens would crumble or cry. Isabella Vance stood there in her pristine white gown, smiling that shark-like smile, secure in the knowledge that she had just delivered a fatal social blow.
My blood ran cold, then immediately hot. The insult wasn't just a jab; it was a public execution. Isabella was calling Andrea a w***e in front of the entire board of directors.
I felt a surge of rage so pure it almost blinded me, and I took a step forward, ready to shatter Isabella’s composure with a few choice words that would ensure she never sat on a charity committee again. I didn't care about the scene, and I didn't care about the scanda
