The promotion was a crown of thorns.Isabella felt its weight the moment she stepped off the elevator the next morning. The air in the executive suite, usually a hushed hum of focused ambition, thickened as she passed. Conversations dipped into sudden silence, then resumed in a lower, more deliberate register as she moved by. Eyes followed her—not the admiring, startled glances from the gala, but something colder. Assessing. Resentful.They think I slept my way here.The thought was a sick, cold stone in her stomach. She’d heard the whispers, of course. Echoes in the restroom stalls, fragments caught while waiting for the coffee machine. “Special projects, my ass.” “Did you see how he looked at her in the meeting?” “Berlin, then Vega? Come on. No one’s that good that fast.”She kept her head h
