Victor Steele lowered his head slightly, his voice softening, carrying an indulgent warmth rarely heard.
"Be good. It's fine if you tease me in private," he said gently. "But if others take it seriously, how am I supposed to show my face in the future?"
He sounded exactly like a boyfriend soothing his partner.
And the way he looked at her—protective, natural, unquestionable—gave his words weight. In that instant, every doubt in the room shattered. This was not some shady arrangement whispered about in gossip columns.
This was real.
Isabella lowered her head obediently. "I understand. I'm sorry."
The sight stunned everyone.
The once-arrogant Isabella… apologizing so easily?
Several people unconsciously opened their mouths in shock.
Then...
Bang!
A sharp sound rang out.
Brandon Hughes had crushed the wine glass in his hand.
Vanessa gasped and hurried to grab a napkin, panicking as she reached for his bleeding palm. "Bran! Your hand—!"
He didn't even flinch.
