Isabella didn't miss the look—smug, lazy, and far too sweet to be innocent. She almost laughed.
Her lips twitched, a grin threatening to bloom.
Why was he always trying to get her attention? It was obvious now—every glance, every action. She wondered why exactly he wanted her to notice him.
Isolde inhaled sharply through her nose, nostrils flaring, her whole body tensing. Her fists clenched at her sides as if she were physically forcing herself not to explode. Then, a pause. Her lips parted.
"I am sorry…" she muttered.
Garan didn't even blink. Just lifted a brow higher.
"…Isabella," Isolde ground out through gritted teeth.
There it was.
Isabella didn't move. Didn't gloat. But the satisfaction hit her deep, sweet and slow. She didn't need to say anything. She'd already won.
"I'll leave now," Isolde added tightly, and turned with a whip of her skirt.
