Isabella's fingers curled around the clay bowl in her hands, her grip tightening as the rhythmic sound of approaching footsteps filled the air.
She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
The already simmering irritation in her chest threatened to boil over when she caught sight of him.
Kian.
And that thing hanging off his arm like a parasite.
Zara.
Oh, now she was mad.
Isabella had been gone for an entire day, missing in action, probably presumed dead—yet not a single message from him. No acknowledgment. Not even a damn nod when she returned. But now, here he was, waltzing in with Zara clinging to him like a desperate vine using her "illness" as an excuse.
Was he serious?
Shelia, already moving forward, greeted her brother with a respectful dip of her head. "Brother."
Kian gave a slight nod in return. Before he could say a single word—
"Oh, Isabella!"
Zara's voice rang out, syrupy sweet and sickeningly fake.
