Ryan and I had just stepped into the hallway when the muffled hum of the ballroom rushed in like a physical weight, drowning out the suffocating silence of the study.
And just like that, the private war between Ryan and me ended.
Or rather, it moved underground.
Ryan stepped back first, giving me space to move forward. I knew it wasn't a retreat of fear or a gesture of respect; it was pure, cold calculation on his part.
I brushed past him, and I felt the shift in him instantly, the desperate, grieving lover vanishing behind the mask of a controlled predator.
I lowered my gaze, smoothing down invisible creases on my midnight-emerald dress as if nothing had happened.
As if my heart wasn't still trying to claw its way out of my chest.
As if the man standing three feet away hadn't just looked at me and realized I wasn't Isabelle.
Joel smiled, his expression a perfect veneer of paternal pride, completely unaware of the wreckage he had just walked into.
