The server in question didn't answer or show any signs that he was listening to what the man said.
He didn't blink or flinch; he just quietly stepped forward, slow and silent, like the world around him no longer mattered—and at that moment, maybe it didn't.
Because even though they hadn't realized it yet, this room, this gathering, and the illusion of power they built on greed and assumptions, had already cracked.
And this quiet step was just the sound of it breaking.
The server moved like someone who'd already made up his mind. No nerves. No hesitation. Just take quiet steps, steady and sure. This wasn't the first time he'd done something like this.
No hesitation. The tray balanced in his hand didn't shake. His eyes didn't waver. His target wasn't the table or the people sitting at it. His target was her.
Isabella.
He stopped just three feet in front of her. No fanfare. No flourish. Just stillness.
Then he bowed.
Not like a servant trained to obey.
