The room was quiet again, but it wasn't the same silence as before. This one felt heavy, like it was sitting on everyone's chest.
You could hear chairs creaking slightly, the restrained shift of movement, the smallest breath.
And at the center of it all, Isabella sat like she had all the time in the world. Her drink rested in one hand, fingers tapping gently against the glass. No rush. No kindness.
Then she stood again. Smooth, unhurried.
She didn't raise her voice. Didn't ask questions.
She just started walking.
The first man she stopped at was the one who had tried bargaining earlier. He looked up at her, eyes bloodshot now, lips pressed into a line so tight it seemed like they might split.
"Your second wife," Isabella said softly, not looking directly at him, just past him. "She never knew about the daughter you had with the hotel maid, which you hid from her."
His shoulders jerked.
