The silence wasn't peace.
It was pressure.
It was as if the room had suddenly shrunk, not just the air but also their posture, confidence, and sense of control.
Everything pulled tight, compressed under the weight of something they'd never actually felt before.
Real loss.
Not the kind you bounce back from. Not money, not turf, not a few missing deals.
This was deeper.
Control. That's what was gone.
The servers had stopped moving. The girls who'd been pouring drinks earlier were just sitting now, still and calm.
The screens on the walls had gone black. Every familiar rhythm—text pings, earpiece buzzes, hallway chatter—was just... gone.
No incoming calls.
No guards bursting in.
No outside contact.
Nothing.
Just Isabella.
And she wasn't pacing. She wasn't drinking. She wasn't playing it up or making a scene.
She was just… there.
Still. Watching them.
Her eyes didn't hold hate.
But they didn't hold kindness either.
