From the second-floor landing, Damian leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding below. He had just returned from a late business meeting, but the voices drifting from the drawing room caught his attention.
Clarissa Monroe. Adrian Cole.
Damian's sharp eyes narrowed.
Those two had always rubbed him the wrong way—sugary smiles, hollow words, the kind of charm that clung too tightly to their own advantage. Yet Isabella had once adored them both. He remembered how brightly she had smiled in their presence, blind to their flaws.
But tonight… she was different.
Isabella sat with perfect poise, her expression polite yet strangely distant. When Adrian leaned closer, offering a compliment, she didn't flush or fidget as she once would have. Instead, she lifted her teacup with steady hands, answering with cool civility.
Damian's chest tightened. This isn't the Isabella I know.
Yet, he couldn't deny—he liked this change.
From his vantage point, he caught the faint flicker of disdain in her eyes whenever Clarissa laughed too sweetly. He noticed the way Isabella's lips curled—not in admiration, but in calculation.
Damian's hand tightened on the railing.
Something happened to you, little sister. Something you're not saying.
"Damian," his father's voice broke into his thoughts. Mr. Iyke had stepped into the hall, glancing toward the drawing room as well. "Why are you brooding up here?"
Damian straightened smoothly. "Just… observing."
His father arched a brow, but said nothing more. He moved on, leaving Damian with his silent watch.
Back below, Adrian reached for the sugar bowl, his hand almost brushing Isabella's. Clarissa giggled at some shallow joke, her eyes glittering with something possessive.
And Isabella… smiled. A cold, perfect smile.
Damian's pulse quickened.
Whoever they are to you, Isa… I'll be watching them too. If they dare hurt you, they'll answer to me first.