A familiar voice cut through the music like a blade.
"Johnson Wight, please let go of Isabella!"
Adam's words landed with a sharp clarity. The couples dancing nearby froze mid-step, their movements faltering as heads turned in unison toward the center of the floor. Eyes gathered on Isabella and Johnson Wight, the tension spreading outward like ripples in water.
Adam's gaze was cold and furious, fixed squarely on Johnson Wight. The man's face flushed an ugly red, embarrassment and anger tangling together as he snapped back, "Mr. Smith! Why are you meddling in other people's business again?"
Adam had been watching from the sidelines the entire time.
He had seen every lingering touch, every shameless press of those greasy fingers. How could he possibly endure it?
