"I'm sorry, Mr. Martin Steele, could you give us a moment alone?" Victor then said softly, his tone so gentle it seemed to drip with honey.
The words were polite, even courteous.
But the smile on his lips never reached his eyes.
Unfortunately, the man calling himself "Martin Steele" completely failed to sense the danger.
He stiffened his neck stubbornly, puffed out his chest, and instead of retreating, he reached out and placed an arm around Isabella's shoulder.
"Miss Cruz is my friend," he declared loudly, as if making a righteous vow in front of everyone. "I won't leave her to face this alone, whatever it is!"
There was even a trace of tragic heroism on his face, as though he were stepping forward to protect a damsel at great personal risk.
The moment Victor saw that hand resting on Isabella's fair, slender arm, the smile that was on his face so far vanished without a trace.
What replaced it was cold.
