Isabella's face went perfectly blank for a beat—no twitch, no frown, no smile—just pure emotional Wi-Fi outage.
Then she slowly turned her head toward Cyrus, catching the guilty worry already stamped across his face.
She knew that look. It was his oh no, I think I just ruined my chances of going to heaven expression. The same one he wore every single time he was about to apologize to her as if she might strike him down on the spot.
Before he could even open his mouth, she cut in gently.
"It's okay. I understand," she said, her lips curling into a warm smile just for him.
Cyrus visibly unclenched, though his shoulders stayed stiff like he still expected lightning to strike.
From the other side of the table, Kian's deep voice finally broke through the quiet like a king making a decree.
"We should eat. The soup is at the perfect temperature now."
Isabella turned her head toward him, meeting that steady, unbothered gaze.
