Madilyn’s POV

I sit at the corner table and watch the door. I am waiting for Isabella. She arrives, and she slides into the chair opposite me. The coffee goes cold between us. We do not touch it. We are not here to enjoy warmth. We are here to destroy someone.

“You look pleased,” she says. I give her a small smile that says I am not a woman who crumbles at insults, and I am certainly not a woman who gives up, and she returns a smile that is as cold as mine. We are only using each other ...