When Hector Raven finally turned around and saw her clearly, what stood before him was a young woman barefoot on polished marble floors, hair slightly disheveled from struggling past security, clutching her high heels like improvised weapons, her eyes blazing with indignation that bordered on recklessness.
He lifted his brows almost imperceptibly, his face remaining as calm as still water.
"Alfred," he said evenly, "call the police."
The words fell without emotion, but they struck like flint against steel.
Isabella's temper, already stretched thin from anxiety, ignited at once.
"Call the police?" she shot back, stepping forward despite the guards hovering near her arms. "Good! I was planning to call them myself! Hector Raven, you accused me of stealing your car this morning, and now you've taken my painting and pretend nothing happened. I actually believed you were a decent person before—what a joke!"
