Leonardo's patience had already thinned the moment he realized Isabella was missing. His footsteps were quick, sharp, echoing through the marble hall like warning bells. With a small hand gesture, his bodyguards moved discreetly, fanning out to search for her.
Within minutes, one returned and leaned close to his ear.
"Sir… she's in the garden."
Leonardo's tense expression eased, just a fraction.
But as he made his way toward the exit, his path was suddenly blocked.
Clicking heels.
Strong perfumes.
Painted smiles that didn't reach the eyes.
The woman in the red gown stood at the front, crocodile tears shimmering in her lashes, her wine glass trembling dramatically in hand. Behind her, a few others hovered like backup singers waiting for a cue.
"Leonardo…" she sniffled, voice trembling like a tragic actress. "Your wife… she's so naughty. She dropped pastry all over the floor, shouted, and then—she cursed us!"
She even wiped a nonexistent tear with her finger.
