Isabella blinked once.
Kian blinked once.
Zyran blinked once.
And then—like a man waking up from a nightmare—Cyrus blinked once too.
It wasn't the blinking that was the problem. It was the words that had just left his mouth, words that hung in the air like a stray arrow that refused to fall.
"Because you're very beautiful."
The silence afterward was loud. Too loud.
Isabella's eyes widened to the size of the rice bowls on the table. Color rushed to her cheeks so fast she thought she might combust. She could feel the heat spreading down her neck, into her chest, making her feel like a tomato left in the sun too long.
Kian, however, was no longer looking at her. His piercing blue eyes—cold as winter steel—shifted with slow inevitability to Cyrus.
Zyran's head followed like a predator spotting a rival. He was practically vibrating with smug opportunity.
