"What did I do? I can't possibly be the reason you're mad—I met you angry," Kian said, voice calm, eyes unwavering. His face was carved stone, like the idea of expressing emotion was a tax he simply refused to pay.
And that? That genuinely made Isabella want to punch a mountain.
He was actually being serious. He wasn't playing dumb. He wasn't teasing her.
No. This man, this infuriatingly composed man, was genuinely trying to understand why he was somehow being blamed for the chaos in her day.
Isabella blinked at him.
Hard.
She tilted her head with the kind of slow, soul-emptying smile one gave before slapping a spirit out of someone.
"You want to know why I'm mad?" she asked, her voice rising half an octave.
Kian said nothing. Just blinked. Waiting.
