ISABELLA
The East Wing Beauty Suite was one of the quietest rooms in the mansion — a long, sunlit space with marble floors, soft gold sconces, and a wall of mirrors that made everything feel brighter, bigger, almost unreal. It was usually reserved for stylists, fittings, and the kind of preparations that required more space than a bedroom could offer.
Today, it was filled with the soft hum of hairdryers, the scent of setting spray, and the gentle clatter of makeup brushes against glass trays.
I sat in the center chair, a white silk robe draped over my shoulders, while two stylists worked on my hair and another blended foundation along my jawline. The gala was hours away, but Adrian wanted everything perfect — and perfection took time.
He had already left with Nico and Luca to “handle b
