Chapter 4

I felt Isabelle's eyes on me, calculating, predatory. The champagne flute in her hand tilted slightly—a movement so subtle that most wouldn't notice, but I'd spent years reading people in boardrooms where subtle shifts meant everything.

"Oops!" she exclaimed, her voice rising dramatically as the golden liquid splashed across the marble floor, stopping just inches from my feet.

The champagne spread in a small puddle at my feet, the bubbles fizzing softly as they died. Several heads turned in our direction, curious onlookers sensing the drama unfolding.

"Oh my goodness," Isabelle continued, her hand flying to her chest in mock…