Isabella stared at the timer on her phone. Twenty-seven seconds to go. She had positioned herself in front of her laptop, shoulders squared, face carefully arranged into a mask of controlled concern. Not too desperate. Never desperate in front of David.
The video call connected with a soft electronic chime.
David's face filled the screen, looking remarkably unchanged despite seven years of incarceration. The same sharp jawline, the same calculating eyes. Prison hadn't aged him—if anything, he seemed more refined, like a blade that had been honed to a finer edge.
"Right on time," he said, lips curving into that familiar half-smile. "Some things never change."
Isabella didn't return the smile. "Show me Liam."
'Don't react. Whatever you see, don't let him read you.'
David tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Of course. Business first, as always."
