Isabelle’s steps faltered slightly at the sound of that voice.

That tone, dripping with mockery and false sweetness was one she could recognize even after years.

Her brows drew together faintly as she turned around.

A woman in a fitted white suit and heels stood behind them, arms crossed, lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her wavy hair fell perfectly over one shoulder, and the oversized diamond earrings she wore glinted beneath the lobby lights.

Lana Clinton.

...