The silence that followed Isabelle's cutting remark felt like the calm before a storm. Lyra Howard's mouth gaped open, her perfectly contoured face contorting with indignation. I could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes as she processed being called a "D-list celebrity" by someone who didn't even recognize her.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" she finally sputtered, her voice rising an octave. People around us were pulling out phones, eager to capture the drama.
Isabelle cocked her head slightly, her expression one of mild curiosity. "I believe I just established that I don't. Nor am I particularly interested in finding out."
I suppressed a smile. This was a side of Isabelle I'd seen before—cool, composed, and utterly devastating when provoked. The stark contrast between her earlier carefree laughter and this ice-queen demeanor was striking.
