Isabelle’s POV
There was a particular kind of silence that came before a storm. Not the kind that offered peace, but the one that made your skin itch and your instincts scream.
I felt it the second I stepped into the private lounge of the Belcrest Hotel, a secluded space I’d booked under a pseudonym. Velvet drapes and soft jazz couldn’t disguise the tension in the air. I didn’t have to turn around to know who had walked in—her scent always preceded her. Expensive perfume, masked with too much desperation.
Kaia Whitmore or so she wished to be called.
I took a sip of my espresso without acknowledging her, letting her simmer in her self-importance. She hated being ignored, and I’d learned long ago that nothing unbalanced a narcissist faster than silence.
“Still playing the part of the si
