Her voice cut through the murmurs like a blade.
"Did you know the man you're crying over beats women up?"
The hush was instant. Alena's shoulders stiffened, and for a moment—just a moment—her lips parted like she might admit it. That maybe she'd known all along. That maybe her little sob fest was more performance than panic.
But before Alena could even cough up a word, Isolde stepped into the ring.
"So?" Isolde huffed with a smug little toss of her dark curls, crossing her arms like she was about to drop divine wisdom. "It's normal for men to beat women who aren't their mates. That's why we women must strive to attract the best and strongest males."
The entire atmosphere shifted.
Something snapped in Isabella's mind—like a door being kicked off its hinges.
Her right hand twitched. The fan. She needed it.
She tried to summon it with the quiet desperation of someone about to ruin a bitch with elegance and grace. But—
