Dinner continued with the surreal quality of a fever dream. Conversations flowed around our table—discussions of family vacations and investment portfolios and which colleges had the most prestigious alumni networks—while I tried to process the fact that Alexander had just saved me from potential poisoning.
Or had he? Maybe the champagne switch was part of some elaborate mind game designed to make me paranoid and dependent on his protection. With Alexander, it was impossible to tell where genuine concern ended and manipulation began.
“Isabella looks pale,” Roni observed from across the table, her voice carrying just enough concern to sound authentic. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Just tired. It’s been a long week.”
“The planning committee has been quite intensive,” Julian added helpfully
