Isabella blinked. She stared at her for a beat too long.
Her fingers twitched at her side. Goddess give her strength—she wanted to pull out her own hair. She knew Opehlia was sweet. Soft-spoken. Gentle. But this? This level of kindness had officially gone off the rails.
Was it a curse? Was Ophelia's heart made of cotton and rainwater?
A man had humiliated her. Repeatedly. Left her on the floor like a discarded cloth—and she still looked at him with watery eyes?
No. No, Isabella wouldn't lose her temper. Not yet.
She crouched ever so slightly, voice honey-sweet, "Opehlia, love, would you mind telling me the name of this barbaric man?"
Her words were gentle, but her eyes—those sharp blue eyes—were anything but. They pinned Opehlia in place, glinting like ice under moonlight.
Opehlia blinked, confused, mouth parted. "H-his name?" she echoed, unsure if she'd heard right.
