Isabella didn't wait for a reply. She turned on her heel, her worn cloak swirling around her ankles as she stormed out of the shop. The bell above the door chimed a frantic, mocking goodbye.
Even though family's debts felt like a noose around her neck, she would rather starve than take a single copper from a man who treated her desperation like a spectator sport.
Inside the shop, silence reclaimed the room, broken only by the settling of dust. Leon stood still, his gaze fixed on the door she had just slammed. He didn't look angry or insulted; he looked satisfied.
The heavy curtain at the back of the shop parted, and the elderly shopkeeper stepped out, his wrinkled face splitting into a knowing, toothless grin. He leaned his elbows on the scarred wooden counter, looking at the nobleman who remained in the shadows.
"Well?" the old man rasped. "What do you think of her, My Lord?"
Leon turned, a faint, chillingly calm smile playing on his lips. "She's perfect."
