But the screaming didn't last long.
Not because the fear disappeared, but because most of the men started realizing it wouldn't change anything.
They weren't getting out.
The staff had sealed the room—the doors, the security, the signals. Every part of their usual escape routes and backup plans was useless. They were locked in.
And Isabella still hadn't moved.
She sat in that chair, one leg crossed, glass in hand, silent, just watching.
Until she wasn't.
She stood slowly.
No theatrics.
Just enough motion to shift the energy again.
She took a step forward.
Then another.
Heels were quiet but firm on the marble floor.
The room hushed like someone had turned the air off.
She stopped in front of the first man—the one who'd been laughing about taking over her "network" just twenty minutes ago.
He was still restrained, but now his eyes were wide and locked on her face. He was not angry; he was just trying to understand.
She tilted her head a little.
