Isabelle’s POV

There was a particular kind of silence that came before a storm. Not the kind that offered peace, but the one that made your skin itch and your instincts scream.

I felt it the second I stepped into the private lounge of the Belcrest Hotel, a secluded space I’d booked under a pseudonym. Velvet drapes and soft jazz couldn’t disguise the tension in the air. I didn’t have to turn around to know who had walked in—her scent always preceded her. Expensive perfume, masked ...